‘A torch.’
Nicky was blank. ‘What do you want a torch for? And what’s it doing in my room, anyway?’
Esteban hesitated. ‘Sometimes the power goes off in old houses. It’s always a good idea to have a torch at hand. And—er—it’s my room, actually.’
Nicky was so shocked that she did not notice the evasiveness of the rest
‘Your room?’ she echoed, disbelieving.
‘Yes.’
Nicky forgot to clutch the blankets. Her hands twisted in agitation.
‘But it was the only one made up. I thought it was for me.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You’re very welcome.’
Nicky ignored that. ‘You should have said,’ she muttered.
She was torn between guilt and embarrassment at her suspicions. Even though he did not know what she had thought, she could feel the heat in her cheeks. She looked anywhere but at him.
‘Why? Would you have offered to share?’ His voice was amused. But there was a thread in it that had nothing at all to do with amusement.
And it demanded an answer.
Nicky lifted her head and met his eyes. There was a moment when the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Then he said something—she thought it was her name—and cast the torch away as he strode forward. Dazed, Nicky let herself be swept up into his arms. She did not make even a token protest.
His hands were like fire. Through the creased cotton she wore, her traitorous body pressed wantonly against him. She was starkly aware of sheer male power. And even more starkly aware of her response to it.
Shocked and exhilarated, she opened her mouth to the invasion of his tongue. As hungry as he, she kicked away the tangled covers and reared against him. She was trembling with need.
Somewhere at the back of her mind, Nicky thought, This is exactly the same as last time. She did not care.
Esteban fell on to the bed, hauling her on top of him in a bone-crushing embrace. Nicky gave a small moan, half pain, half longing. Her breasts were hot and hard under the old nightdress. She writhed, hobbled by the twisted stuff. Esteban muttered in frustration. Nicky felt his breath hot in her mouth, his hands fierce.
And then the old cotton tore like paper.
Esteban lifted his mouth and flung her down among the tumbled covers. At once he began to slide down her body, his mouth hungry. Nicky screwed her eyes tight shut. The sensations were close to agony. But she thought she would die if he stopped.
‘Say you want me.’ His voice was muffled against her trembling flesh.
Nicky blenched. Her eyes flew open. This was facing her feelings with a vengeance. Could she do it?
Esteban felt her recoil. He looked up, his eyes black with desire. And dawning dismay.
‘Don’t you?’ He sounded appalled.
Nicky swallowed.
‘I—’
But she couldn’t.
Esteban threw himself off the bed as if she had shot him. ‘I think I’d better go.’
Nicky pressed her lips together so tightly they hurt. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She swallowed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a voice she did not recognise.
‘So am I,’ he said curtly. ‘Put it down to a difficult day. For both of us.’
‘I should never—’
But he interrupted, his voice level. ‘Nor should I. But there‘ s no harm done.’
Oh, yes, there is, thought Nicky. Her every sensitised nerve quivered, exactly as it had ten years ago. As it never had since. That revelation shocked her into wild alarm.
‘Heaven help me.’ Her voice spiralled upwards, on the edge of panic.
Esteban winced. Engrossed in her own self-betrayal, Nicky did not see it.
He said harshly, ‘It’s no big deal. Mistakes happen all the time.’
Nicky looked at him blankly. He made a quick, instinctive movement towards her. And curbed it as quickly. His dark face was quite unreadable.
‘You’ll find it will look different in the morning.’
And he picked up his torch and walked out.
For once things did not look better in the morning.
Nicky had spent a restless night, torn between listening to the slam of the sea on the rocks below and the disturbing dreams of half sleep. In the end, she gave up trying to sleep and got up as early as she decently could.
There was no sign of Esteban. Which was half a relief, half frustrating. Nicky shook her shoulders and refused to think about where he might be.
Instead she applied herself to the problems of the kitchen. She might not be able to replace all the fuses until the shops opened but at least she could find out which appliances needed them. Then she could be on her way back to London and out of Esteban’s force field—and all it revealed of her own bewildering weakness.
She made herself a large mug of strong coffee and concentrated. If she kept her mind on her work, she reasoned, she would not have to think about last night. And if she could avoid thinking about it until she got back to the safety of her flat, then she had a sporting chance of looking Esteban in the eye before she left.
Work helped a bit. It took her a couple of hours to go round the kitchen thoroughly, pulling out units and wriggling behind machines. But in the end she was pretty sure she had the measure of the problem.
Not all the fuses had been removed. Sometimes the wiring had just been disconnected so there was no longer a circuit through the plug. Usually the wiring had been mutilated. Nicky had no doubt that the kitchen equipment had been sabotaged. By somebody who had plenty of time and was not afraid of being challenged if found in the kitchen. Somebody, she was pretty certain, whom Esteban Tremain knew.
She put in a call to Martin, reporting in. She knew he would be in the office early before he went to the exhibition hall.
‘Hi. How’s it going?’ he said breezily. ‘The girls have been worried about you. They thought you were going home this morning.’
‘I was’, said Nicky. ‘Something turned up.’
‘Like what?’ Martin asked, amused. It was an office joke that nothing diverted Nicky from her chosen path once she had made up her mind.
She took a deep breath. ‘Our respected client’ Her tone of cynical unconcern was masterly. No one would guess she had been going mad in his arms last night.
‘Esteban? That must have been a party and a half.’
Nicky shut her eyes, thanking heaven that Martin could not see her anguish.
‘Offered my choice of companions for the evening, he would not be a hot favourite,’ she said with careful irony.
And Martin suspected nothing.
She reported on the evening, editing heavily. Martin did not like the implications of any of it. His instructions were curt and businesslike.
‘Put things right and get out pronto.’
Nicky was surprised at his tone. So surprised that she forgot that Martin was telling her to do exactly what she had already decided on.
‘I don’t think I’m in any danger, Martin. As Esteban said, it was just a silly trick.’
‘Too silly. Whoever did it is not rational. And Hallam Hall is just too damned isolated.’
Perversely, Nicky objected. ‘But I’m not alone. The client is here.’
Martin knew Hallam. ‘My guess is that Esteban Tremain is working at the other end of the house. The Beast of Bodmin could come and tear you to bits in the kitchen and he wouldn’t even hear the screams.’
Nicky shivered. There was a beast tearing her to bits, all right. Memory had a whole new set of claws after the way she had behaved last night.
‘I’m not joking, Nicky. Do the business and get out.’
She knew it was the only sensible thing to do.
So she decided to take the car off to the nearest small town she could find on the map. She left a note for Esteban in the middle of the kitchen table.
She felt self-conscious, propping it up against her file. Something else that felt too intima
te. But it was only practical to let him know that she had gone out.
Hell, she did not even know what to call him. She started the note four times: ‘Mr Tremain… Dear Mr Tremain… Esteban… Dear Esteban…’ None of them looked right.
In the end she did not head it at all, just scribbled it out as if she were in great hurry. ‘Gone to get the fuses. Will bring back some bread and milk.’ She signed it with the time she left and her initial. Nothing anyone could call personal there. She hoped Esteban would recognise it and behave accordingly.
The little market town was just about waking up when Nicky got there. A small ironmonger’s proved to have the required fuses and replacement cable but the man serving her was not willing to surrender them until he knew where she had come from. Having extracted the information, he gave her a comprehensive run-down on Hallam Hall, its owner, Colonel Tremain, and how lucky he was to have a stepson like Mr Esteban.
‘I’m sure,’ said Nicky, acutely uncomfortable. She held out her hand for her change.
‘He works hard, Mr Esteban,’ said the shop man, not handing it over. ‘You’d think he wouldn’t need to bother—his real dad being a millionaire and all.’
He paused invitingly. But Nicky was almost dancing with discomfort.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said curtly. ‘I just work there. Good morning.’
She seized her change and ran.
The baker’s shop was no different—though she learned there that Mr Esteban was a very fair employer, even though everyone had been worried when he’d taken over running the farm from the Colonel—and the woman in the small general provisions store virtually barred Nicky’s exit while she told her every daring exploit that Mr Esteban had been up to since he’d first arrived at Hallam at the age of eleven.
Nicky felt as if everyone in the single street was watching her as she made her way back to the car. It was all she could do not to run the last few yards. She did run into the kitchen when she finally got back to the Hall.
‘Phew,’ she said, pulling off a headscarf and shaking out her damp blonde hair.
Esteban Tremain was at the kitchen table reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. Nicky stopped dead when she saw him. It was like walking into a waterfall. At once every idea roared out of her, leaving only the memory of last night’s turbulence. And dread.
Esteban looked up. His expression was unreadable. Nicky’s mouth dried.
Was he going to reproach her? Demand an explanation? Touch her? Wild images shot across her brain. She stood, frozen, in the middle of the kitchen floor.
He lowered the paper slowly.
‘How are you?’
Nicky swallowed. ‘Soaked,’ she said, taking refuge in briskness.
He studied her searchingly. ‘That’s all?’
She turned away, tossing her shopping on to the dresser.
‘Well, I feel I’ve just run the gauntlet.’
‘Local people are always very interested in what happens at Hallam.’ He was still watching her.
As if he expected her to burst into flames or start throwing things, she thought. She forced a laugh.
‘Interested! I think I’ve had your life story.’
He folded up the newspaper and stood up. ‘Nicky—’
She rushed into speech, not looking at him.
‘I’ll replace all these fuses. Then make sure that everything’s working.’ She was gabbling. ‘After that I’ll be on my way.’
He stood very still. ‘Is that what you want?’
She risked a glance at him then.
‘I think it would be sensible.’
Esteban looked at her gravely.
‘Are you always sensible?’
Nicky was full of self-mockery. ‘Usually.’
Except with him.
‘Then maybe it’s time for a change,’ Esteban suggested softly.
He was not touching her. He was not anywhere near her. But the energy beating out of him forced her to look at him. Nicky found she was actually tilting backwards in a physical effort to resist.
‘Don’t you think we have things to talk about?’
Panic flared, swift as a forest fire. Did he suspect they had met before? Had he, too, started to remember a night on a Caribbean beach?
‘No,’ said Nicky forcefully.
Oh, no, it would not be sensible to stay. It would be crazy.
Nicky broke that mesmeric eye contact and said woodenly, ‘No, I’d rather get back. I have a lot of work to do.’
There was a long silence. Nicky turned her head away. She could feel his eyes on her profile, but he did not ask any dangerous questions. And he did not try to persuade her.
‘Shame’, he said at last.
She thought, He doesn’t really care.
Which, she assured herself, was exactly what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
Esteban turned away, picking up his car keys. ‘Will you be all right if I leave you to get on with it, then? I have to see my stepfather.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
On his way out of the door, he paused. ‘Will you be here when I get back?’ He could not have sounded less interested.
‘If you get back before I’ve finished the kitchen’, she said pleasantly.
‘I see.’
She thought he would leave then but he did not. Instead he surveyed the keys for a moment, then looked across at her very directly.
‘What has sent you into retreat, Nicky? Village gossip?’
Nicky gave a false little laugh. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No?’ He patently did not believe her. ‘Have it your own way.’ He shrugged, turning away. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours. If you leave before I get back, lock up but don’t bother about the burglar alarm.’
He left. Nicky felt bereft. She flung herself at the machines.
Putting the fuses back and then restoring the kitchen to its former state took longer than Nicky had expected. In the end she found she would need to touch up some of the paintwork and even replace a couple of tiles. A quick call to the local installers told her where the spare materials had been left. She rooted them out from the cupboard off the pantry and made the repairs.
All the time, she worked with an ear alert for the sound of Esteban’s Jaguar. It did not come. At last she could not convince herself that there was anything more for her to do. She packed up her files, stuffed her few clothes back into her overnight bag and loaded both into her car.
She left a brief, neutral note for Esteban on Springdown headed paper. Then locked the mighty wooden door and climbed into the car. There was a strong wind off the sea which made the car rock. But it was not that which made her shiver convulsively as she settled behind the wheel.
She would have given almost anything not to be setting off, Nicky realised. The drive was long. The autumn day was already starting to darken. The wind shook the car. And she would probably never see Esteban Tremain again.
‘Stop it,’ Nicky said aloud to herself. ‘You did not succumb to his charm and he still doesn’t know you’ve met before. You’ve got away with your tail feathers. Be grateful. And drive.’
The car started easily, drove for about sixty seconds and then rolled gently to a halt as if it had run out of petrol. Nicky checked the fuel gauge. No, it was more than half full. She tried the ignition again. The engine flickered into life and died.
She got out. The car had got her out of the lee of the Hall and the wind made her stagger. Nicky set her teeth and had a look under the bonnet. Everything looked normal. But then how would I know if it wasn’t normal? Nicky thought in self-disgust. She felt inadequate and it infuriated her.
‘Blonde’, she said aloud furiously.
She could have cried. Or pushed the thing into the sea. Instead she contented herself with kicking a tyre viciously. Then she trudged back to the Hall.
Esteban was still not back. Nicky tried to tell herself that it was a relief. This way she might be able to contact someone
to tow the car away and take her to the station before he returned. So she would not have to see him again. Which was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
She found a telephone directory in the study. It was easy to identify the nearest garage. The man who answered was frustratingly unhelpful until she mentioned that she was staying at Hallam Hall.
‘Tell Mr Esteban I’ll be out as soon as I can,’ he said, ringing off before Nicky could point out that the car in question was hers.
And then she heard the sound of a powerful car’s wheels on the gravel. Slowly, she put down the phone.
It had to be Esteban. Her heart leapt.
Nicky shook her head. This was no good. She squared her shoulders, did some deep breathing, and went to the kitchen.
He was standing at the kitchen table, head bent, reading the paper in his hand. Nicky realised that it was her note. She cleared her throat.
Esteban looked up. She saw that his brows were knotted in a fierce frown. He regarded her blackly for a few unspeaking moments, almost as if he did not believe it.
‘I thought you’d gone.’
‘I had.’ For some reason her voice was thready. She moistened her lips.
The black frown did not lighten but a little flame lit in the depths of those dark eyes.
‘What made you change your mind?’
‘I—’
He did not move a muscle but she felt as if he had come towards her. As if he was reaching for her.
‘Decided to have a go at not being sensible after all?’ he suggested softly.
For a crazy moment Nicky was tempted to say yes. To take the two steps that would take her to him and see what happened. Be sensible, she told herself.
‘My car,’ she managed.
‘Ah. Of course.’ His frown disappeared. So did the little flame. ‘I should have expected it. We are haunted by mechanical disasters. What’s wrong?’
‘It stopped.’
‘Well, that’s pretty final,’ he agreed.
He gave her a lazy smile. Nicky knew it should have charmed her to bits. Instead it was oddly chilling.
‘It won’t start. I don’t know why. The petrol is all right. I need a mechanic.’
‘Did you leave your lights on?’
Nicky had had a hard day and she was coming close to the end of her endurance as far as this man was concerned.
The Latin Affair Page 12