Sweet Bondage

by Dorothy Vernon

  ‘Good.’ A waitress, who had apparently just spotted Glenda, came hurrying forward to take her order. Glenda forestalled her by standing up. ‘Now that I’ve got wheels I don’t think I’ll bother with coffee after all. The service here is getting dreadful. See you later,’ she called over her shoulder as she walked out, a smug, self-satisfied look on her face.

  Gemma was unable to give the generous slice of gateau she had ordered with her coffee the concentration it deserved as she thought about what to wear for ‘cocktails at The Hall.’ The soft pink that suited her milk and roses complexion? Or would the dramatic blue that tended to drown her delicate coloring but made the most of her figure be better? And all the while something about Glenda’s manner puzzled her, the mysterious smile on her lips, the way her words seemed to have a double meaning, and her gratitude for the loan of Gemma’s car when it would have been so easy for her to call a taxi.

  It wasn’t until she went for her bag to pay her bill and her fingers closed round unfamiliar black patent leather that she realized Glenda had taken the wrong handbag. She could see how it had happened. Glenda must have forgotten discarding the dove-gray clutch bag. She had seen it on the table, a familiar possession, and picked it up without thinking.

  Gemma felt guilty at having to dip into Glenda’s purse to pay for her coffee and cake, but there was no alternative. She would have to recompense Glenda later.

  On leaving the cafe she made straight for the square, hoping to catch Glenda before she got away and exchange handbags, but her red Mini wasn’t there. She’d tried; there was nothing more she could do except wait until she saw Glenda this evening when she returned the car. She shoved the matter of the handbags to the back of her mind and enjoyed her browsing. A lack of money and her own disinclination to make free with Glenda’s stopped her from buying the intended groceries.

  When she judged that sufficient time had elapsed she made her way to Meridith’s garage. The white Lincoln Continental was parked in the forecourt, just as Glenda had said it would be. The shoes she would have preferred to drive in were in her Mini. She looked down at her boots, wondering whether to take them off and drive in her stockinged feet, but decided against it. She’d see how it went. She unlocked the car door, settled herself in and, rather nervous and unsure of herself, drove off.

  The mechanic had done his stuff because the engine wasn’t making any funny noises now but was singing as sweetly as a bird. At first she was frightened that she wouldn’t be able to gauge the car’s unfamiliar width and length and hung back rather than take the risk of overtaking. But a strange thing happened. Sitting behind the wheel of such a lovely vehicle gave her confidence, or perhaps some of Glenda’s panache had rubbed off onto her, because she began to enjoy the new experience. She almost didn’t take the Ash-le-dale road, toying with the idea of first going for a drive round, but thought better of it. She was a punctilious soul and she hadn’t asked Glenda’s permission.

  Rounding a bend she saw a stationary car just a little way ahead. It wasn’t a car she recognized as belonging to anyone local. It was dark blue in color, long, with classic lines, and like Glenda’s car it was geared for speed but stuck on a road more suitable for the slow pace of a farm tractor. For the unwary these bends could be tricky and Gemma’s first thought was that it had come round too fast and spun out of control. She was relieved to see no sign of damage to indicate that it had crashed into anything. It must simply have broken down. She would have stopped in any case at this obvious sign of trouble even if she hadn’t been obliged to do so because it was parked in a way that left her insufficient room to pass.

  She wound down her window with the idea of calling out and asking if help was wanted and saw that the driver of the car was coming toward her.

  The sight of the car had stirred her curiosity; its owner aroused her interest. He was certainly worthy of being looked at. He wasn’t handsome in a picture postcard way, but bold handsome, with a shock of black hair crowning a well-shaped head and slightly forbidding features. A nose that could be described as aquiline, a strong mouth, a granite chin. A somewhat somber face with eyes to match which appeared black from a distance, but as he got nearer she saw they were an unusual shade of olive. He was tall, a giant of a man combining broad shoulders and muscular strength yet having the lean physique of someone who keeps trim with a healthy diet and regular exercise.

  He presented an awesome figure as he came striding toward her. Her pulse started to race in automatic reaction to the magnificence of him, or was it something to do with the way he came at her that made her feel—odd choice of thought, but—menaced?

  ‘Run the car onto the grass verge,’ he instructed without preamble.

  He spoke in an educated voice with just the trace of a Scottish accent. He looked normal enough, but you could never tell and she decided that it might be wise to humor him.

  ‘Now why should I want to do that?’ she inquired in her most pleasant conversational tone.

  ‘For safety’s sake, obviously. To leave it where it is would be asking for an accident.’

  ‘But I’m not leaving it here.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’ This was getting to be ridiculous. Even men as divinely, spectacularly handsome as he was could not go round ordering people about, defenseless females at that, in this bombastic manner. ‘I’m not in the mood for games. I don’t know what this is all about and I don’t have the time to spare to find out. So would you be kind enough to move your car to the side of the road and give me room to pass?’

  ‘You don’t know what it’s all about, do you?’ he scoffed. ‘Well, I’m very much afraid that I do.’ Without more ado he reached through the window and released the catch to open her door.

  ‘I demand to know what you think you’re doing.’ She gasped, giving full vent to her fury at this outrage.

  ‘Move over. I’ll drive it onto the verge. Even if you’re irresponsible enough to leave it where it is, I’m not.’

  ‘Now look here—’ For all his dark-faced Highland laird appearance, she wasn’t going to stand for his battling warrior tactics. ‘Just what do you think you’re—’

  ‘Move! Unless you want me to sit on you and crush you.’

  He looked as if he would. She wriggled onto the other seat, more furious than frightened. He started up the engine and drove the car onto the verge where it wouldn’t constitute a hazard.

  ‘Now that that’s safely out of the way and no unsuspecting motorist is likely to run into it, are you coming with me voluntarily or do I have to take you by force?’

  Suddenly it hit her. It was an abduction plot. A laugh that had its origins in hysteria rose in her throat. A kidnapper with a moral conscience, ensuring that no one got hurt! She hoped his consideration would be extended to her.

  But why should he want to kidnap her? What would be the profit? There wouldn’t be any. Oh dear! Her brain must be on the blink not to have realized this immediately. He thinks I’m Glenda, she thought wildly. He must think she was Glenda Channing because there would be no gain in kidnapping Gemma Coleridge, who didn’t have one rich relative in the world to fly to her assistance. But Glenda Channing was a different proposition altogether. He would be able to demand a big ransom for her.

  She must not panic. All she had to do was explain things to him and everything would be all right.

  ‘You’ve made a mistake,’ she said in as steady a voice as she could muster. ‘I realize you think I’m Glenda Channing, because I’m driving her car, but I’m not. My name is Gemma Coleridge.’

  His head swiveled round and down to fix on her face. His eyes narrowed as he considered. ‘I’ve never met the girl, admittedly, but you fit the overall description. Early twenties, tiny little thing, blond hair, a face that’s easy on the eye, and a figure that’s hard on the blood pressure—masculine viewpoint, of course.’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘The first four fit. Can’t tell about the other while you’re hiding in that bulky
coat.’

  ‘I’m not about to take it off,’ she said, hugging her sheepskin more firmly to her. ‘Any number of girls would fit that description. I am not Glenda Channing.’

  ‘Then why are you driving her car?’

  ‘That’s easily explained. Miss Channing took it into the garage this morning because the engine was making a funny noise. I offered to lend her my car to get her out of a fix. She needed transport urgently and I was in no particular hurry to get home. I said I’d collect her car and drive it home for her. It’s as simple as that.’

  An explosion of laughter burst from his throat, the unpleasant sort that grated. ‘You must think I’m simple if you think for one moment that I’m going to swallow that.’

  His hand came forward. She shrank back in her seat, an automatic reaction that he acknowledged by the contempt that flickered in his eyes.

  ‘I was only reaching for this,’ he said as his hand closed round Glenda’s black patent leather handbag. ‘We’ll soon see who you are, won’t we?’

  He opened it up. A few seconds’ rummaging brought a twisted smile to his lips. ‘You lie with charming conviction and such a convincing innocence that you almost had me believing you. But I don’t think I need look further than your driving license and credit cards for proof of your identity, do I, Miss Channing?’

  Her eyes had closed in despair when she saw what he was doing. ‘I can explain that, too. The mix-up occurred in the cafe, Betty’s Cafe, where I bumped into Glenda Channing. We shared a table. She left before I did and she took my clutch bag by mistake instead of her own handbag.’ Even to her own ears it sounded a lame story.

  ‘That, Miss Channing, is straining credibility just a bit too much. I’d even go as far as to say that it is an insult to my intelligence.’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ she said wearily, with little hope of convincing him. Everyone knows that a handbag is as personal to a woman as a wallet is to a man. Had the situation been reversed she would have been hard put to believe him. Yet there was a logical explanation and she must have another stab at getting through to him. ‘In normal circumstances I don’t suppose she would have picked up the wrong handbag, but mine used to belong to her. I bought it at a church jumble sale.’

  ‘I’m not buying it. The lie, I mean. You’ve wasted enough time. Are you coming under your own steam or do we wrestle?’

  ‘We wrestle every inch of the way,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘I am not Glenda Channing and I am not coming with you.’

  She tried to sit fast. She made a spirited attempt, but she had about as much chance of resisting him as a feather has of knocking down a brick wall. He picked her up as though she was weightless, held her captive while he meticulously locked Glenda’s car, and then ruthlessly tossed the car keys into the scrub beyond the drystone wall. ‘Unlocked cars tempt joy-riders. There’s too much under that bonnet. Wouldn’t like it on my conscience if some young hothead ended up wrapped round a telephone pole.’

  His conscience again! This was incredible. Even as she kicked and screamed and struggled and bit, all the while hoping in vain that someone would come along and rescue her from what seemed to be her inevitable fate, she couldn’t help but see the comic side. Kidnapping ranked as one of the vilest of crimes. How could anyone who dealt in that kind of human suffering have principles? Something didn’t make sense.

  ‘I think you might be less of a distraction in the back,’ he said, bundling her into his car. ‘In any case, you’ll be more comfortable. We’ve a long drive ahead of us and if you want to catnap you can. I brought a blanket to make you cozier. Don’t try anything stupid, like attempting to jump out or hitting me over the head with your handbag or any other foolish trick. At the speed I intend to travel you wouldn’t live to regret it.’

  ‘I won’t, then, because I want to live. I want to live for the pleasure of seeing your face when you find out you’ve kidnapped the wrong girl.’

  ‘Not that again. Repetition is so boring.’

  ‘I said when you find out, as you will when you discover that no one is particularly bothered about my disappearance. I’ve given up trying to convince you—for the moment.’

  Conversation temporarily ceased as the car’s powerful engine burst into life and it shot off at hair-raising speed. He hadn’t been joking when he said he intended to travel at a fast pace. It didn’t take her long to realize that he was more than a merely competent driver. The car seemed almost an extension of his own hands, following orders from a brain that was like lightning when it came to anticipating road conditions. His skill gave her a sense of security.

  She must be as mad as he was. Here she was being kidnapped by a dark-visaged speed-demon and she was thinking in terms of security! She ought to be sitting on the edge of her seat, biting her fingernails and shivering in terror. Why didn’t she feel afraid? She felt a lot of things, anger, frustration and—yes!—a sneaking admiration for the magnificent way he handled the car and a rising sense of adventure, but no fear. Now why was that?

  Chewing on that thought it came to her that he was no ordinary run-of-the-mill kidnapper. Not that she had ever met a kidnapper before; she had no yardstick to measure one by, but he seemed not only too kind but too affluent. On the other hand, she supposed that kidnapping could be quite a lucrative business. If he made his living by it, and providing he didn’t make today’s mistake too often and pick up the wrong victim, he could afford to dress well and run an expensive car.

  Somehow, though, she thought this had the flavor of a one-off job, rather than a regular occurrence. If that were so, then her first, hastily reached conclusion that she was being abducted for money might also need revising. She could be wrong, but perhaps Glenda hadn’t been chosen solely on the grounds of her father’s vast wealth. What if money didn’t enter into it and she had been abducted to settle a score?

  She’d heard enough village gossip to know that this was more than likely. Clifford Channing hadn’t got where he was today without making enemies. He was reputed to have a nose for profit, seeing possibilities others missed, playing his hunches with boldness, flair, and ruthlessness, using people, then destroying them. It was said that he didn’t care what hardship he caused and turned a deaf ear to appeals. It didn’t matter to him if he left a man’s life in ruins or broke a woman’s heart. He liked female companionship almost as much as he liked making money. His lady of the moment was always ‘the one,’ but the cosseting never lasted. He quickly tired of her and she got the same shabby treatment he handed out to his business associates.

  They had traveled for quite some time now, through daylight and into darkness. Funny how courage wanes when light fades. Things always seem more terrifying in the dark. She wished she hadn’t remembered Clifford Channing’s reputation. It wasn’t funny anymore. She realized that she had been foolhardy not to appreciate the gravity of her position sooner, not that she could have done much about it

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ he tossed at her over his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m a bit stiff. I could do with stretching my legs. And I’m hungry.’ And scared. She didn’t add this, thinking it was better to keep her new-found fear to herself.

  Perhaps fear wasn’t something she could hide very well, because he said, ‘There’s food in the car. I’ll pull off the road as soon as I see a likely place. Oh, and you don’t have to sound so frightened. You must know that I’m not going to harm you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gruffly, comforted by the assurance despite herself.

  The car headlights picked up a road sign indicating a lay-by ahead. He reduced speed in preparation and pulled in.

  He flicked on the interior light, hauled out a food hamper, and lifted it on to the passenger seat by his side.

  Opening it he apologized, ‘Only sandwiches, I’m afraid. But you do have a choice. Chicken or ham?’

  ‘Chicken, please. I’d appreciate a drink of something first. Traveling long distances always gives me a thirst.’ />
  ‘Coffee coming up.’

  He took a flask from the hamper and unscrewed the top even before she said, ‘Lovely, thank you.’

  It was more than lovely. It was delicious. Hot and strong, easing a passage in her throat, dispelling the dryness and a little of the fear as well. The situation seemed slightly less menacing now that she was on the receiving end of human kindness in the form of food and drink. She wondered if he would be more disposed to listen to her now. She could but try.

  ‘Honestly, I’m not Glenda Channing. There’s no point in your kidnapping me. It was true what I said about collecting Miss Channing’s car for her and the mix-up over the handbags.’

  ‘Still keeping up the pretense, are you? Anyway, who’s been kidnapped? This was at your instigation; you’ve come voluntarily.’

  ‘You know that I’ve done no such thing.’

  ‘It’s too late for a change of mind. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to fetch you. Elaborate plans have been made.’ He swallowed the rest of his coffee in a gulp, put the cup back in the hamper and twisted round, his arms bent at the elbows and splayed along the back of his seat, granite chin resting on linked fingers to look at her. ‘I expected you to look more hardboiled. Who would have thought that anyone with such an appealing little face could be so heartless and insensitive? I don’t mind admitting that I’m having problems on that score. I’ve got to keep reminding myself of what you have done—and what you would do, given half the chance. You stand for everything I most despise. This time you’ve met your match. Clever as you are, you may as well get it into your head to drop the pretense because it isn’t going to do you any good. I am not taken in, nor am I likely to be. Is that clear?’

  ‘No, it isn’t I’ve landed myself in some bizarre situations in my time, but I’ve never been involved in anything like this before. I’m beginning to feel really angry.’

  His words had caught her on the raw. She wasn’t used to being viewed so harshly. She liked to think that she was regarded kindly and admired for her caring and the way she concerned herself for others. She didn’t think it was too conceited of her to know that this was the majority opinion and that most people thought well of her. Miss Davies, her superior at work, had once confided that she loaded things on her quite shamefully because she was a kind-hearted girl who never grumbled when asked for help.