He went as fast as he could in the narrow river and was soon shooting across the lake, but he didn't stop at the jetty below Abbot's Craig as Romily expected him to, instead going on towards the castle. She pulled at his sleeve to remind him, but James shook his head and pointed at a new-looking boathouse and jetty round the bend. He came alongside the jetty and tied up, then cut the boat's engine, the silence suddenly deafening after so much noise for so long. They climbed out on to the jetty, but Romily staggered and would have fallen if James hadn't caught her. She still felt as if she was on the water and for a minute found it impossible to keep her balance on something that kept still.
With his arm round her, James said, 'Come on, let's get you inside and into some dry clothes.' Pushing open the door to the boathouse, he led her inside and she saw that it was full of all the usual boating paraphernalia, but he steered her up a flight of wooden steps to another door which opened into a kind of sitting-room with a big picture window at the end overlooking the lake. An electric fire had been left burning and the pine-panelled room was warm and cosy.
'Here, let me help you off with your waterproofs.'
She had begun to shiver again, so made no demur as James unzipped the jacket and took it off, then bent to pull down the trousers, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.
'Your hair's soaked. Come and sit by the fire while I get you a towel.'
She obeyed him, her teeth chattering with cold, while he crossed to a cupboard and took out a big, fluffy towel. He gave it to her, then took off his wetsuit, gathered it up with hers and took them down to the floor below to hang to dry.
'Is your sweater wet?' he asked as he came back to kneel down beside her.
'Yes, but only round the neck,' she answered, her voice muffled as she rubbed at her hair.
'Better take it off, then.'
And before she could stop him, James had taken hold of her sweater and was pulling it over her head. 'Hey!' she exclaimed indignantly.
He laughed as he pulled it off. 'You don't want to catch a cold, do you? How about your shirt, is that wet too?'
'No,' she said hastily, putting up a hand to grab the neck together.
He gave her a mocking look. 'Suit yourself, but I'm going to put your sweater to dry and I'm sure you would be far more comfortable if your shirt was dry too.'
Romily gave him a doubtful look. 'What would I wear in the meantime?'
'I'll find you a sweater, I keep several here to change into.' He got up and went to another cupboard. 'This one should do, but it will be rather large, I'm afraid. How about your jeans?'
'They're fine,' Romily said with determination. 'Turn your back.' He raised his eyebrows at her but did as she asked while she took off her shirt and put on his soft sweater. 'Mm, nice,' she commented. 'It looks hand-knitted.'
'It is. Can I turn round now?' She handed her shirt to him and he said tauntingly, 'A lady I know rather well made it for me with her own hands.'
'Lucky you,' Romily said offhandedly, picking up the towel to dry her hair again.
After putting her clothes into an electric drying cabinet James came to kneel beside her on the rug in front of the fire again. 'Your arms must be aching; let me do that for you.'
He reached to take the towel from her, but Romily moved further away. He was becoming a little too free with his offers of help. 'I can manage, thanks,' she said shortly.
'An independent young lady, aren't you?' he said in some amusement, picking up another towel to dry his own hair. 'Most girls like being cosseted a little.'
'I'm not—most girls.'
'So I've noticed.' Throwing the towel on to a long deep settee, he spread out beside her, leaning on one elbow. 'Most girls wouldn't have gone out to sea with me in the boat, or if they had, they would soon have wanted to turn back. But you enjoyed every minute of it.'
'Yes,' Romily agreed, a light of remembered excitement coming into her eyes. 'It was marvellous. I loved it.'
'Then we must do it again some time.'
'Perhaps,' Romily said noncomittally.
'Perhaps,' he mocked, and put up a hand to gently push aside a lock of hair that lay across her face. 'Your hair is dry enough now, surely?'
'I suppose so. Do you have a comb?'
'I do, but I like it the way it is, in a tangle of curls around your head. No, don't try to straighten it.' He caught hold of her raised hand. 'I'll find a comb for you before you go home. Now, how about a drink? I've got a couple of decent bottles of wine in the fridge.'
Romily looked round the large room, taking note of the big soft settee, almost as big as a bed, the curtain that could be closed to shut out the rain, the drinks trolley and a music centre with a shelf of records over in the corner. A playboy's pad if ever she'd seen one. And there was no way she was going to become just another statistic on that couch! 'Thanks, but I'd rather have coffee,' she said firmly.
James gave her a wry look. 'You know, I've a feeling you don't trust me,' he remarked as he got to his feet.
'You could be right at that.'
He plugged in a coffee machine and put in enough water for two cups. 'Just what did Carol tell you about me?' he asked.
'I'm sure you don't really want to know.'
'On the contrary, I'd like to know exactly what she said.' James came to sit on the settee while he waited for the coffee to heat. 'There's really not much point in not telling me, is there? I promise you I won't sue for slander, if that's what you're worrying about.'
'Hardly. You can only sue for slander when it's a lie,' she pointed out tartly.
James's mouth twisted into a thin smile. 'So I'm already prejudged, am I?'
Romily hesitated, not wanting to get involved, not wanting to hear him try to deny it, feeling somehow that she was getting mixed up in something sordid. But she supposed he had a right to know. 'She merely said that you had a shady reputation. That you'd had lots of women in the past and that you were bad news as far as the female sex were concerned.'
'And was that it? She didn't go into details?'
She frowned. 'Isn't it enough?'
'For you, apparently. You obviously believe her.'
Romily looked at him in sudden doubt for a moment, then turned her head away. 'Yes,' she said decisively. 'Yes, I do.'
'Just like that? Without even giving me a hearing?'
Raising her hands in a dismissive gesture, she said forcefully, 'Look, I just don't want to know. I'm—I'm not interested enough to care. OK?' She got agitatedly to her feet. 'I enjoyed going out on your boat with you and I—I enjoy your company. But that's it! I don't want to get involved. So you see, it really doesn't matter about your murky past.'
James sat watching her until she had finished, an assessing look in his eyes. 'I see,' he said slowly. 'So all you want is friendship?'
'Friendship would do fine.' She looked at him in some surprise; she had expected him to be angry, especially about the murky past bit, but he didn't seem to be at all put out. Still not quite trusting him, she said doggedly, 'But that's all. No—no sex.'
A pained expression came into James's eyes. 'I wouldn't let it rear its ugly head,' he vowed solemnly.
Romily's mouth puckered and then she had to smile. 'Do you always make people laugh when they're trying to be serious?'
'Always. You see, people do tend to take themselves so very seriously.'
'But you don't?'
'Myself, d'you mean? Or other people?' The light went out on the coffee machine and he got up to pour it out, adding a shot of Scotch whisky. 'I seem to remember you said you didn't have a boyfriend.'
'No.' Romily took the mug of coffee from him.
'But there has been one in the past?' She raised quick, questioning eyes to his face and he gave a small shrug. 'It's pretty obvious. When a girl declares that she's off men it usually means that she's been hurt. Am I right?'
'Mind your own damn business!'
'I see I am,' he remarked easily. 'Who was he?'
Romily glowered at him a
nd went to put down her mug.
'All right,' James held up his hand, 'I won't ask any more questions. Except one.'
She glared at him. 'You don't expect me to answer it, do you?'
'Not unless you want to.' He grinned at her. 'I was merely going to ask how you liked your steak cooked.'
'Steak?' She looked at him in some bewilderment, not sure if he was being serious.
'Mm. I'm hungry, aren't you?' He pointed to an old brass ship's clock on the wall. 'Look, it's almost two o'clock, time we had some lunch. Though it's only steak and a salad, I'm afraid. I don't claim to be any good at cooking.' Getting to his feet, James went to the far end of the room where one of the pine-fronted cupboards turned out to be a fridge and another a pull-down grill.
Romily watched as he began to prepare the meal, her anger still simmering. He had no right to ask her questions about her personal life. She had half a mind to just walk out. But it was raining outside, and she was hungry, and she was wearing his clothes. A thought occurred to her and she looked at him again, wondering if he had asked those probing questions because she had repeated what Carol had said about his private life.
Glancing round, he caught her eyes on him. 'You look very pensive. How about coming to keep an eye on the steaks while I toss the salad?'
Slowly Romily got to her feet and joined him. She saw at a glance that he didn't really need her help, he was managing very efficiently on his own, tossing the salad with an experienced hand. Belatedly she remembered that he was her host. 'I'm sorry if I offended you,' she said stiffly. 'But you asked me what Carol had said about you, and I merely repeated it.'
'I'm not offended. It doesn't matter to me what Car— what other people say. I was just disappointed that you were so willing to damn me on hearsay evidence.'
'But if you don't care what other people think of you, why should it bother you what I think?' she asked curiously.
James gave her a quick look, then shrugged. 'Why, indeed? But, strangely, it does. There, the salad's ready. How about the steaks?'
'How do you like yours?'
'Medium rare.'
'They're done, then.'
'They carried the plates over to a small table set near the window and James poured chilled wine into crystal glasses, then put a cassette in the music centre. The sweet notes of a saxophone playing a classical jazz tune rippled from the speakers, soon joined by other instruments until a whole band was playing. Romily had cut into her steak and was about to eat, but this tape had been one of Richard's favourites, too; he had often played it when he had parked the car in some quiet spot and reached out to take her in his arms and love her. Putting down her fork, she said curtly, 'Do you mind playing something else?'
'Of course not. Don't you like jazz?'
'Not much.'
Reaching out, he ejected the tape and put in another, of ordinary ballads by a well-known singer this time. 'All right?'
She nodded and picked up her fork again, but somehow her appetite had gone. She sat looking down at her plate in sad-eyed remembrance.
'Is it that bad?'
Looking up, she saw that James was gesturing towards her steak. 'Oh no, of course not, It's very good. Who taught you to cook, the same lady who knitted this sweater for you?'
He gave a rather devilish grin, as if at some private joke. 'As a matter of fact, she did.'
Was he then so proud of his conquests that he boasted about them? But Romily dismissed the idea; no playboy ever boasted about being taught to cook. That thought made her realise that, apart from that, James had never talked about other women at all, except in very general terms as anyone would.
'Do you have any family?' she asked curiously.
He shook his head. 'A couple of aunts and some cousins, but no one nearer than that.'
'So you live in the castle alone?' He nodded and she said, 'Don't you find it awfully big for you?'
'Much too big,' he agreed, picking up his glass. 'But I hope to fill it a little more some day.'
So he wanted a family, did he? But he was hardly going the right way about it, Romily thought wryly. 'Aren't you leaving it a little—er—late?'
He laughed. 'You don't pull your punches, do you? Possibly you're right. But I've never felt like settling for a rock bun when there might be a cream cake somewhere along the way.'
Romily burst into laughter. 'What a terrible simile! And anyway, surely you'd rather have a Scottish bannock?'
'Not necessarily.' His amused eyes settled on her face, changing to an arrested expression. 'You look very lovely when you laugh. You ought to do it all the time.'
'That's ridiculous! My hair's a mess and I haven't got a scrap of make-up on,' Romily protested.
'You look great,' he corrected her firmly. 'Clean and natural and animated, full of life. As you ought to be. Not as you sometimes are when you have that sad face.'
'Nonsense. I'm never sad,' Romily lied. 'Probably I was thinking about what to have for dinner.'
James let it go and they talked of other things for a few moments until Romily mentioned having been to see Maggie again.
'So we'll be able to have real Scots porridge on the menu now,' she told him.
'You're really keen on this traditional food idea, aren't you?' 'Yes, I am. There are hundreds of hotels in Scotland so we must be something special to make people choose to stay with us.'
'And do you think you'll enjoy working here?'
'Oh, yes. It will be nice to have the whole meals to prepare, not just one course.'
'You get on all right with Carol and your brother, then?'
There was something in his tone that made Romily turn her head to look at him. They had finished eating and were sitting on the couch at a sedate distance apart, finishing the wine. 'Yes, of course,' she answered coolly. 'Why shouldn't I?'
'No reason. I was just curious as you couldn't know them that well. Unless you lived abroad with them?'
'No, I didn't. I was at college in London and then working in various hotels most of the time they were away.'
'And did you live in the hotels?'
'Oh, yes.'
'So you haven't had a proper home for years?'
With a light laugh, Romily said, 'You get used to that with hotel work. Most of the time you have a room to yourself, so you do get some privacy.'
'It sounds a very lonely life,' James remarked as he got up to put on a new cassette and refill her glass from a fresh bottle of wine.
'No more than yours,' Romily retaliated, feeling on the defensive. Getting off the couch, she pulled a cushion on to the floor and sat on it, leaning her back against the settee. She felt beautifully warm now, and pleasantly full. The wine and the music, too, were making her feel drowsy and contented.
James stretched out full length on the settee behind her, his glass in his hand, but presently he began to stroke her hair, gently combing out the tangles with his fingers. She let him do it for a moment and then straightened up, but he caught her shoulder and pulled her back. 'Relax,' he said softly, and went on playing with her hair. It was nice, Romily liked it, and she felt so peaceful and warm. After a while, though, his fingers moved to stroke the skin of her neck, his touch feather-light and tantalising. 'Why don't you come up here and join me?' he suggested. 'It's much more comfortable than the floor.'
Romily didn't even consider it for a moment, just got to her feet in a lithe, graceful movement. 'Sorry to spoil your fun, but I have to be getting back.'
She turned to move away, but James caught her hand. 'Romily! Just come and be comfortable, that's all. You can trust me, you know.'
'Can I?' she retorted unbelievingly.
'Why not give it a try? You can always leave when you want to.'
She looked at him doubtfully, recognising his masculine attraction and not sure if she had sufficient control of herself at the moment to resist it if he made a pass. He gave her a gentle pull and against her will she let him draw her down on to the settee beside him. He was right, it
was extremely comfortable. She lay down and James put his arm beneath her neck, but that was all.
'Now,' he instructed, 'just close your eyes and relax. Listen to the music.'
Obediently she closed her eyes, but found it impossible to relax when he was so close. Her senses were alert as she waited, sure that he would start to touch her and ready to jump to her feet if he did, but the minutes passed without him doing so and gradually her drowsy senses relaxed until she fell asleep.
When she awoke almost an hour later, she found that James, too, was asleep, but in his sleep he had put his arms round her and was now holding her very close. She gave a little jerk of startled surprise and he moved a little, his arms tightening; he murmured something that sounded like 'Darling', but didn't waken.
Romily looked at his face, so close to her own, indignantly, wondering if he had touched her while she was asleep. But she hadn't been that tired; she would have known if he'd handled her. It was obvious that he was used to sleeping with a woman from the natural way he held her, and that murmur in his sleep had been a dead giveaway. For a moment she felt angry, but then grinned as she thought that this was probably the first time in his life that he had slept with a woman without making love to her. But it was time he woke up so that she could go home, so she blew in his face. His eyelids flickered and he stirred but didn't wake, but before she could do it again, he murmured something else, leaned forward and kissed her!
Romily was taken by surprise and it took her a moment to recover sufficiently to try to push him away. 'Hey,' she mumbled indignantly against his mouth, 'wake up!'
It took longer than she'd thought possible for him to wake, his mouth and arms holding her tenaciously, and she had to thump him in the ribs a couple of times before he finally opened his eyes. 'Oh, hallo.' He blinked at her. 'Sorry, did I roll on you?' He moved away. 'Must have fallen asleep too. I was having the most wonderful dream.'
'Were you, indeed?' Romily exclaimed indignantly, sitting up.
'Mm. Trouble is, it's gone completely now. I wonder what it was?' But then he shrugged. 'You went out like a light.'
She looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he really hadn't known that he was kissing her. 'I have to get home,' she told him coldly.
Sally Wentworth - Tiger in His Lair Page 7