CHAPTER ONE
'You don't mean you're going to fly out to Malta to see Keir?' Sally Roberts sat on her bed and stared at Libby with frank disbelief in her dark eyes. 'You can't mean it. You're mad-utterly and completely mad.
After the way Keir treated you two years ago you ought to be telling him to go to hell-not running to his side the moment he crooks his little finger.'
Libby snapped her suitcase shut and smiled at her flat mate. Her wide grey eyes looked even bigger than usual in their frame of sooty lashes and she flicked back her feathery black hair as she considered Sally's words. Was she mad? Should she be telling Keir to go to hell? He'd certainly hurt her badly enough two years ago, when their engagement had broken off with a snap that could have been heard round half London. But now ... She gave herself a little shake and grinned ruefully at Sally.
'It isn't that easy,' she said. 'There are--well, complications, it's, pot easy to sort things out. What happened two years ago-what's happened since. I can't go into it all now. But the main thing is Keir's letter. There's something about it-it's so strange. He's in trouble of some kind and I can't make out what it is. And he says he needs me.'
Sally snorted expressively. 'Needs you! After all this time? Look, I'm sorry, Libby, but can't you accept what happened? See him for what he is? All right, he may need you, but do you need him? Or is this going to stir up a whole hornet's nest of misery just when you were rebuilding your life so well?'
Libby-shrugged and lifted the suitcase to the floor. 'That's something we'll just have to work out,' she said quietly. 'And the only way we can do that is for me to do what he asks-go out there. I can't just ignore his letter, Sally. It-it's like a cry for help.'
Sally snorted again. 'And what about Terry?' she asked. 'Or doesn't he count any more?'
Libby bit her soft lip. With a guilty pang she realised that she hadn't thought about Terry since Keir's letter had arrived. She wasn't being fair at all to the pleasant young man who had been her constant escort for the past six months.
'Yes, I'm sorry about Terry,' she admitted. 'But you know there's never been any commitment between us. We've had a lot of fun-but that's all it's been.'
"As far as you're concerned, perhaps;' Sally said shortly. 'I'm not so sure about Terry. I've seen the way he looks at you sometimes. Still-' she shrugged '-I suppose it's your affair. Keir's obviously still got some kind of hold over you. I just hope you don't find yourself in a situation you can't handle.'
'Oh, I don't think that'll happen,' Libby answered lightly. 'After all, we were engaged-I know him pretty well.' But she turned away so that Sally would not see the crease of anxiety on her smooth brow. How well, after all, had she known Keir? How well did she know him now, after two years apart? He must have changed in that time-she was sure she had. Would she find him the Keir she had known-and loved? Or would he be different-a stranger, his blue eyes cold, as they had been the last time she had seen him?
And just why, after all this time, did he want to see her again? Why had he sent that strange letter, half arrogant, half pleading?
And why, she wondered ruefully, was she dropping everything-her job, her social life-to fly to his side? As if, as Sally had perceptively remarked, he still had some strange hold over her?
That was just it, she thought as she stared out at the grey London street below the flat. He did have some kind of hold over her. And that was why she was going to Malta to meet him again. To find out just what that hold was-and to find out how, or even if, it could be broken.
The aircraft was filled with cheerful families and couples, all evidently bound for Malta on holiday. Behind Libby was a small child who peppered his parents with questions for the first half of the journey and then fell suddenly asleep, to the relief of everyone around. Libby looked out of the window and then read the free magazine she had found in the seat pocket. Printed in the style of a newspaper, it was full of items about Malta-where to go, what to see, what to eat and drink. Very useful if you were going on holiday, she thought, but that wasn't the purpose of her journey. She would probably see very little of the island, and that seemed a pity when she realised how interesting it must be, with its long and varied history.
Perhaps another time-when her mind was free to relax . . .
The aircraft flew steadily down the coast of Italy and past Sicily with a view of the smoke of Mount Etna, before leaving land behind for the last stretch over the Mediterranean before Malta. A stir of excitement rust· led through the plane as passengers craned their necks for a first glimpse of the island. In spite of her preoccupation, Libby felt her own excitement rise as she caught sight of the jagged shape, almost blindingly white in the hot sun, a rocky fortress in the blue sea with its attendant islands of G020 and Comino like stones thrown from the shore. She peered down, fascinated by the starkness of the place-there were only a few clusters of trees here and there and, as far as she could see, no grassy areas at all. Yet, as the plane swept lower, she could see a blaze of colours-a large garden, perhaps a public park, she guessed. And there were huge cavities, too, that must be quarries, where the stone to build all the houses was gouged out. Her final glimpse before the plane dropped too low to see any more was of a harbour, filled with coloured boats tossing on the white-flecked ripples.
The plane touched down and taxied to the end of the runway before turning back. The atmosphere now was electric with excitement as holidaymakers gathered their hand luggage together. Libby stared out at the white buildings and felt suddenly panic-stricken. What had she been doing, getting excited about Malta? In a short time now she would be meeting Keir again, and she realised suddenly that she had no idea at all how to greet him. They had parted in anger and bitterness and had had no contact between then and the arrival of his letter just a few days ago. In an effort to remind her of why she had come, she pulled the envelope from her pocket. It was crumpled from having been opened and read so frequently since she had received it, and she knew it almost by heart, but she stared at it now as if she had never seen it before, her brain registering only a few words here and there-words that leapt out at her, burning themselves into her mind.
'Libby, my love ... I've been missing you so much ... we've been apart too long ... can't you come to me?
Come now, my sweet, and let's make up for lost time ... I need you. . . I need you . . .'
There was more, but Libby still could not understand some of the things he had written. It was all so vague hints at some kind of trouble, references to events she had never heard of. And, more clearly, reminders of
their own past, when it had been happy, before bitterness broke in. Reminders that had brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes; reminders that even now brought her memories sharply into her mind.
And through it all, that strange, indefinable sense of urgency; that bond that still held between her and the man she had once been engaged to.
The other passengers were standing up now, crowding the gangways, eager to get off and start their holiday. Libby watched them and decided to stay in her seat until the last. There was little point in adding to the crowd and she certainly wouldn't get off any faster-she wasn't even sure now that she wanted to. In fact, if anyone had offered her the chance of staying on the plane and going straight back to London, she would have taken it! But nobody suggested such a thing and she sat there. staring unseeingly out of the window and letting her mind drift back, as it had so many times before, to that magical summer when she had first met Keir.
She had been just twenty-two, a year out of university and working as a sub-editor on a women's fashion magazine. The world had been her oyster; behind her was her life in Devon with her parent
s and sister Claire, before her was all the excitement of working in London, meeting people she had only read about or seen on TV and never dreamed she might actually talk to one day. Even now, as a humble sub-editor, she hadn't met many, but at the parties given by the magazine she had talked to some of the celebrities who had been interviewed for the features page. And it was at one of these parties that she had met Keir Salinger.
Keir, at thirty-three, was already well-known as a novelist and biographer. He had published his first novel when no older than Libby herself, and gone on from strength to strength, winning several major prizes and becoming a TV personality on the major chat-shows. He was also in some considerable danger of becoming a sex-symbol too, with his tall, rangy figure, his burnished gold hair and deep blue eyes. The mobile mouth could smile with a charm that had a good many women turning their TVs on whenever he was due to appear, more for the pleasure of gazing at him than to listen to what he had to say. And it was becoming equally well-known that this was a facet of fame that didn't appeal much to Keir Salinger.
So Libby had been slightly surprised to see him at the party at all. Lately, she had heard, Keir Salinger had been turning into something of a recluse, refusing to appear on TV unless it was for a definite discussion and even threatening to sue one or two newspapers, which had published stories about him, and the many ladies he could be seen around London with.
Libby had been nervous of meeting him-not that she would be likely to anyway, she told herself as she dressed for the party. He would have more important people to talk to than a mere sub-editor. So when she had found herself handing him a drink, she had turned away immediately.
'Hey, wait a minute!' A long arm stretched out to bar her way, and sensitive fingers caught her sleeve.
'You're not going to leave me all on my own, are you?'
Libby turned back and looked uncertainly at him. 'But you can't be on your own, Mr Salinger-there must be heaps of people here who want to talk to you.'
'Oh yes, I'm sure,' he grimaced. 'But not so many I want to talk to. You don't have to rush off, do you?
You're not employed to hand drinks around?'
'No, I work on the magazine.' Libby looked at him again, still feeling hesitant. He couldn't seriously want to talk to her. 'Have you met our editor? She's just over-'
'Yes, I've met your editor, your features editor, your beauty editor, your fashion editor and your pictures editor,' he told her forcibly, 'and to my way of thinking that's enough editors for any man. Now I want to talk to you. Just what do you do on the magazine?'
Libby dimpled at him, unable to resist her reply. 'I'm a sub-editor, Mr Salinger. Want to change your mind?' And she laughed as he clapped his hand to his forehead in mock despair.
'Obviously there's no escape,' he declared. 'You must be breeding. All right, I give in-I'll talk to the subeditor. But not about editing, if you don't mind. And not about me. Tell me about yourself.'
'Me?' Libby's uncertainty returned. Was he mocking her? 'But I'm not interesting at all, Mr Salinger, I-'
'Well, I'll be the judge of that,' he returned easily. _ 'And let's cut out the "Mr", shall we? Keir's the name, as you very well know. And you're-?'
'Libby. But honestly, Mr-Keir-there isn't anything interesting about me. I've only been working here a year and-'
'And before that?'
'I was at university. Nothing very grand-a redbrick-' 'Where?' His questions were rapping out now and Libby would have felt resentful if he hadn't been smiling at her in ~at devastating way. A tiny warning sounded somewhere in her mind, a warning of danger, but she dismissed it. What possible danger could Keir Salinger be to her? He was just passing time at a party that was all.
'Exeter,' she said, answering his question. 'My family live in Devon - near Dartmoor. My father's a doctor.'
He nodded and she wondered if he was losing interest.
Not that she would blame him if he was-she had told him that she had nothing to talk about. But she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed; even so, at the way his eyes were now roving over the rest of the room.
Suddenly he seemed to come to a decision. The bright blue eyes returned to her face with an almost physical shock and he reached out and laid a hand on her arm, sending a tingle through her whole body.
'You're not going to leave me on my own, are you?' he said persuasively. 'People are beginning to leave.
And if I stay here much longer your revered editor is going to bear down on me again and I'll feel obliged to take her out to dinner. And I'd much rather take you.' The smile warmed his face again and Libby stared at him, bemused. She couldn't be hearing right. Had he really just asked her to have dinner with him? Feeling her cheeks flush scarlet, she began to stammer something, but he cut her short.
'Get your coat or whatever you've got, Libby,' he murmured, and the deepness of his voice sent a thrill down her spine. 'Let's get away from here to some place where we can talk properly. I've got a feeling we're going to have a lot to say to each other.'
In a dream, Libby fetched her coat and returned to find him waiting by the door. Someone else was talking to him now, but as soon as Keir caught Libby's eye he excused himself and came across to her.
His hand was warm under her elbow as he guided her out of the tall building and led her across to a grey, low-slung Porsche waiting at the opposite kerb.
Libby got in, still in a daze. She just couldn't begin to understand why this man, rich and famous, attractive enough to be taking out the most sought-after girls in London, should want to share his evening with her. They hadn't even talked for more than a few moments, and nothing she had said was intelligent or witty enough to have caught his attention. Perhaps, she thought wryly, he was just tired of beautiful and intelligent women and felt like relaxing with someone a little less demanding. There surely could be no other reason.
He took her to a small French restaurant where he was obviously well known, and they were shown to a corner table surrounded by tall green pot plants. It was like a private bower, Libby thought, and her bewilderment grew. Then, as she handed over her coat and slipped into the chair, she shook herself mentally. What did it matter why he had brought her here? The best thing to do was simply enjoy it-because if one thing was certain, it was that there would never be a second occasion like this. Keir Salinger would have had enough of ingenuous unsophistication by the end of the evening and be glad to return to his more usual kind of girl friend.
And having thought that, Libby did relax and enjoy herself, although she could never remember the evening in detail afterwards. It was all a warm blur of delicious food and drink, lallghter and an increasingly incredulous feeling that somehow she had known and been waiting for Keir all her life. And when she slipped once more into the passenger seat of the Porsche, she was conscious of a deep regret that it was to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
But it hadn't been, after all. Keir hadn't spoken much as he drove her back to the flat she shared with three other girls, and she had expected him to wish her a brief goodnight before driving away, out of her life. He had been so silent, in fact, that she'd begun to come out of her golden dream and wonder uneasily if she had offended him in some way. And then, as the Porsche came to a smooth halt, he had turned to her and slipped a strong arm round her shoulders.
'That was just what I needed, Libby,' he told her in his deep, quiet voice. 'An evening entirely without pretensions. I was beginning to wonder if there were any girls like you left.'
'Girls like me?' Libby repeated uncertainly, and he nodded, drawing her a fraction closer.
'That's what I said. Girls who still look at the world as if it's something good-something fresh and new and full of surprises. There's nothing cynical about you, Libby. You can still enjoy the simple things, and that's something that's been missing from my life lately.'
Libby gazed at him, still not quite sure what he meant.
Even now, she thought, he might be sending me up, but somehow she didn't
think he was.
Keir spoke again. 'Let's not look too deeply into things, Libby. Let's just enjoy ourselves. What about a day in the country at the weekend? A picnic, a walk, something like that. Appeal to you?'
'Oh, yes,' Libby breathed, and he laughed.
'That's settled then. I'll call for you at-well; let's make an early start-say nine-thirty on Sunday. Don't bother to do anything-I'll bring everything we need you just bring yourself, all right?'
'All right,' Libby agreed, still bemused, and he smiled and then drew her close and placed his lips firmly on hers.
Libby was shaking as she got out of the car and went into the house. She had been kissed before, of course Libby had never been short of boy-friends at university, though she hadn't had any serious relationships since coming to London-but nothing had prepared her for the weakness that had invaded her when Keir Salinger kissed her. She touched her lips gently, still feeling the firm, cool pressure of his, remembering the way they had moved over hers, sending a flame of desire through her, making her cling to him with a sudden desperation. Keir bad held her close, his hands stroking her body with a tenderness that she had never experienced before; then, with a final gentle kiss, he had released her and sat looking at her, his eyes dark.
'Go on, Libby,' he said gently. 'Time you were in bed.
I'll see you on Sunday.' And he swung his long legs out of the car, came round and opened Libby's door and guided her gently up the steps.
That had been the beginning. The rest of that summer had been as golden as Libby's dream-a long kaleidoscope of days in the country, or by the sea, evenings at the theatre or concerts, or just walking through the parks; rainy days spent indoors listening to music and one hot night when a tremendous thunderstorm had broken and they had watched it together from the window of Keir's flat.
That had been the evening Libby had tried hardest to forget during the past two years, but now as she sat waiting to get off the plane in Malta, she allowed it to come back to her mind. It was the night Keir had proposed to her; the night they had become engaged.
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