by Lucy Gordon
A few minutes later Sarah requested a private conversation with Jarvis, who courteously left the room with her. Ferdy could heard the hum of their voices through the door. ‘So what’s this little chat about, eh, Sarah?’ he murmured. ‘Some earnest advice about nothing? Whatever excuse you’ve found, you’re wasting your time. You’ve given Jarvis a hundred chances to propose to you, and he’s taken none of them. You’re like a sister to him, I’m glad to say. It wouldn’t suit me at all to have you the mistress here.’
He surveyed his empty glass with a sigh. Then a wicked smile spread over his face. He crossed over to the desk, quickly purloined a couple of sheets of estate notepaper, and was sitting by the fire again when the other two returned.
‘Where exactly is Yorkshire?’ Meryl asked Benedict as they shared a bottle of champagne.
‘In England. That’s all I know. Why?’
She chuckled. ‘It’s where my prospective husband lives.’
‘You actually had a reply?’
‘It came this morning.’ She yawned and leaned back against the leather arm of Benedict’s huge sofa. She was lying lengthways on it while he sat sprawled at the other end.
‘No kidding!’ he said. ‘Who?’
‘Jarvis Larne. A lord, no less. He lives in Larne Castle in Yorkshire.’
Benedict took the letter from her and scanned it hilariously. ‘He’s very upfront about his poverty,’ he noted. ‘Castle falling down, cracks everywhere, whisky running out-heiress urgently required.’
‘It’s a joke. I bet he doesn’t exist at all.’
‘He does,’ Benedict said unexpectedly. ‘I’ve seen the name in a book of English peerages I bought in case I ever get any titled customers. It’s on that table.’ She gave it to him and he began flicking through the pages. ‘Here we are. Viscount Larne of Larne Castle. Hmm! Quite a pedigree.’
He began to read aloud, “‘Jarvis, Lord Larne, twenty-second viscount, age thirty-three, inherited the title when he was twenty-one.” Hey, fancy being a lord at twenty-one. All that droit de seigneur.’
‘What?’
‘The ancient feudal right of the lord to have any virgin on the estate.’
‘You made that up!’
‘No way. It’s the tradition. It goes back centuries. That’s why half the estate workers look alike. When you give him a son you won’t be able to tell him from the others.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not going to marry him. I put that advertisement in because I was mad at Larry, but I’ve cooled down now.’
‘Goodbye ten million dollars,’ Benedict sighed.
‘Nope, I’ve sorted that,’ Meryl announced triumphantly. ‘I’m getting a bank loan. The Lomax Grierson isn’t the only bank in New York. Any one of the others will be glad of my business. I’d have done it before but it seemed so silly when I didn’t need to.’
‘Bless you. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’
‘I was waiting for the call to confirm it, but that’s just a formality. When the phone rings-you’ve got it!’
Right on cue her mobile shrilled and she seized it up, giving Benedict a delighted wink. But then he saw her smile fade, replaced with a look of outrage. When she spoke it was through tight lips.
‘You said there’d be no problem-what’s Larry Rivers got to do with anything? He doesn’t run your bank-yes, I know he’s my trustee but-legal action?’
By the time she hung up Benedict had a tolerably exact idea of what had happened. ‘I guess Larry’s tentacles spread further than we thought,’ he sighed.
‘He actually dared warn them off-’ Meryl seethed. ‘Well, there are other banks-’
‘Which he will also have warned off,’ Benedict pointed out.
‘He threatened them with law suits,’ Meryl fumed. ‘Oh, I could-’
The mobile rang again. Benedict got quickly out of the way.
‘Larry,’ Meryl said sulphurously, ‘I’m warning you-’
‘Warn away if it amuses you, my dear,’ came her godfather’s complacent voice down the line. ‘Try your wiles elsewhere if you like wasting your time. Then tell Benedict Steen that he won’t get a cent out of you for the next three years. Bye.’
He hung up.
‘Oh, won’t he?’ Meryl breathed. ‘Right! That’s it! Benedict, how do I get to Yorkshire?’
He stared. ‘You mean tomorrow?’
‘I mean today!’
What on earth was she doing?
And why hadn’t her guardian angel made sure there wasn’t a flight until next morning, thus giving her a night to see sense?
But the angel must have been off duty, because there had been a flight at nine that very evening to Manchester. Before she knew it she was on her way.
A belated attack of conscience had made Benedict try to argue her out of it.
‘You don’t know anything about this place. It’s isolated up there and you’ll be on the edge of the North Sea-gales and-and things.’
‘Stop fussing like an old hen and find me a hotel at Manchester Airport. I’ll need a room if we land at three-thirty in the morning.’
‘England is five hours ahead of us. It’ll be eight-thirty.’
‘Not in here,’ she said, pointing to herself. ‘For me it’ll be the early hours.’
She was glad of her decision when she landed and could zonk out on a comfortable bed. But after only a couple of hours she awoke feeling fine, and a shower followed by a hearty breakfast completed her recovery.
She was humming as she dressed in Benedict’s latest creation, an elegant olive-green trouser suit in a silk mo-hair blend, with a tawny sweater and matching silk scarf.
‘I suppose I should have called Lord Larne first,’ she mused, putting the finishing touches to her make-up. ‘Well, I would have done if I really meant to marry him. As it is, I just had a temper tantrum, and serves me right! Oh, Larry, the things you make me do! This is all your fault!’
Briefly she thought of catching the next flight home, but outside her window the day was glorious, and an adventure beckoned.
At the car rental firm she picked up an open-topped red sports two-seater that reminded her of her beloved car back home. A few minutes getting used to having the steering wheel on the left, and the traffic on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, and she was away on the hundred and twenty miles to Larne.
Driving carefully, she reached York without mishap, and went for meal in an oak-beamed restaurant. As she ate she studied her map, noting that the castle was on a small island just off the coast. But the road travelled straight across the water, so obviously there was a bridge.
She read Lord Larne’s letter again and was charmed by its light-hearted air. He spoke of poverty but with a humorous touch that suggested he might be pleasant to know.
It was getting late when she restarted her journey. By the time she’d reached open country the light was already fading and there was a nip in the air.
The map informed her that she’d reached North York Moor. Luckily there was a clearly marked road across it, and twenty miles would bring her to the coast and the bridge to Larne Castle.
As she headed across the moor the sun vanished and black clouds began to scud across the sky. The road had no lighting, and she soon had to switch on her headlamps. Outside their glowing circle the bleak land stretched away for miles. She was totally isolated, and beginning to feel a tad dismayed. All around her the earth grew blacker and the wind gusted strongly. The light sports car didn’t hold the road well, and the rain was getting heavy now. She stopped and got out to try to put up the top. It stuck.
She became chillingly aware of her isolation in this bleak place, with no sign of life in any direction. Not a light. Nothing. It was like being the last person left alive on earth.
But this was an adventure, right? A headless horseman might come galloping past. Just now even a headless horseman would be welcome company.
‘So what the heck if I’m alone?’ she demanded of the starless
sky.
Incurable honesty made her add. ‘And lost. And confused.’
She abandoned the attempt to raise the top and got back into the car. There wasn’t much further to go. But ‘adventure’ was definitely fraying at the edges.
‘How do I get myself into these situations?’ she muttered. ‘Oh, well, it can’t be far now. All I need is a friendly local to direct me.’
Right on cue a torch gleamed just up ahead, and soon she discerned the outline of a very tall man. In the headlamps’ glare she could make out that he was wearing faded, muddy trousers and a leather-patched jacket that had seen better days. Here was the ‘local’ she’d wanted, except that he definitely wasn’t friendly. He planted himself rudely in her path and waited for her to stop.
Muttering dire curses, Meryl braked. The car responded sluggishly and the gap between her and the stranger narrowed with alarming speed.
‘Move!’ she shrieked, swerving madly and missing him by a whisker. He hadn’t budged.
She vaulted out of the car and placed herself in front of him, furious, terrified and soaked by the downpour. ‘Have you got a death wish?’ she yelled. ‘What’s the idea of just standing in front of me?’
‘The idea was that you should stop,’ he yelled back against the wind.
‘I tried to. It’s an unfamiliar car. I only hired it this morning.’
‘And you didn’t check the damned brakes.’
‘I did check the brakes. They worked perfectly at the airport.’
‘Then I guess the firm saw you coming.’
She breathed hard. ‘I’ll pass over your rudeness, but I do want to know why you just stood in my path when you must have seen I was having trouble stopping. Why didn’t you get out of the way?’
‘That’s what the world usually does for you, is it? I didn’t move because then you might have driven on, and the road’s under water. I may consider you a total idiot for driving out here in that thing you jokingly call a car, and not dressing properly for these parts, but I don’t want you to drown because I didn’t warn you. Where are you going anyway?’
‘Is that any of your concern?’ she demanded, fighting the crick in her neck. It was infuriating to have to argue with a man so much taller than herself. Meryl could look most men in the eye, but she had to peer right up as this man loomed over her. He was built for looming, too, powerful about the shoulders, with a harsh face and eyes that flashed disagreeably over a slightly hooked nose. He would have been impressive at any time, but from this angle it was like arguing with an enraged bull.
‘It’s my concern if you drive into the sea,’ he snapped. ‘That road doesn’t lead anywhere.’
‘According to the map it leads to Larne Castle.’
‘Well, you can’t go there, so-’
‘Who says I can’t?’
He made a tearing movement at his hair which the rain was plastering to his skull. ‘It’s not open to tourists,’ he yelled over the storm.
‘I am not a tourist!’
‘Then why are you turning up out of the blue?’
‘Who says I’m out of the blue?’
‘I know this-nobody is expecting you.’
‘Oh, yes, they are-well, in a sort of way-maybe not today exactly-hell! Why am I telling you? I am going to Larne Castle.’
‘How? Swim?’
‘Over the bridge.’
The grinding of his teeth was audible even above the storm. ‘Will you listen to me? There is no-’
‘I’ll show you. The map’s just over here in my-why are there two Alsatians sitting in my car?’
‘Out!’ the man yelled and the two vast animals obediently jumped out.
‘That’s it!’ Meryl seethed. ‘I’m getting out of here before I start seeing things-if I’m not seeing them already.’
‘Fine. Turn back.’
‘Don’t give me orders. I’m continuing my journey, and if you stand in front of me again I shall drive over you.’
She thought she heard him mutter, ‘On your own head be it,’ but she couldn’t be certain because she was already speeding on her way.
CHAPTER TWO
M ERYL put her foot down. This was one journey she wanted to get finished, fast.
The man had seemed strangely familiar with the castle and its concerns, and it briefly crossed her mind that he might be Lord Larne himself, but she dismissed the thought. That ill-tempered curmudgeon had never written the letter that had charmed her. Probably a family retainer.
She could see where she was going now, the shore lights, and far beyond them the lights of some huge building that must surely be Larne Castle. Straight ahead for the bridge. She squinted, trying to detect the start of the railings. With her attention thus occupied she didn’t realise how far she’d driven until she found herself surrounded by water.
‘I’m in the sea,’ she said, aghast. ‘Where’s the bridge?’
But there was no bridge, only a causeway, fast vanishing under the incoming tide. With horror she saw that the shore was fifty yards behind her. The waves were swelling strongly, and a sickening lurch warned her that her little car wasn’t built for this.
She couldn’t go back. It would have meant trying to turn the vehicle and she didn’t know if the causeway was wide enough. Besides, retreat wasn’t in her nature. She must get ahead as fast as possible. The water had covered the road by only a few inches, and she could just about discern it.
But it grew harder and harder to hold her course. She slammed her foot down, trying to force her way through, but the next moment a huge wave lifted her off the ground, sweeping her sideways, and suddenly she was right off the causeway and sinking.
She tore at her seat belt and just managed to get it open as the car went down. Then she was free, dog paddling like crazy, with no idea where she was.
‘Here! Over here!’
The voice came from behind her, and she struggled around to see the man who’d stopped her back on the road. He was waving the torch to attract her attention.
‘It’s not too deep,’ he yelled. ‘You should be able to touch down, a beanpole like you.’
She managed to feel the ground with the tips of her toes, but then another wave tore at her, pulling her out to deeper water. She went down, struggling madly, came up gasping and tried to cry out. But water filled her mouth as she went down again. The man had vanished from the causeway. Rage filled her. He’d left her to drown.
‘Where are you?’ His voice came from nearby.
‘Here!’ she screamed as the current yanked her further out to sea.
But then-oh, the relief as something that felt like a steel hawser went around her waist, holding her steady against the worst the water could do!
‘It’s all right. I’ve got you,’ said a voice she recognised.
Now she could make out details of him. Before diving in he’d yanked off his heavy overcoat and sweater. Through the thin, sodden shirt she could feel shoulders like cliffs, the swell of taut muscles beneath her hands, the hardness of a heavy torso against her body.
‘Just keep hold of me,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not releasing you until we’re on land.’
‘Suits me,’ she gasped.
‘But if you’d listened to me in the first place-’
‘Must we talk about that now?’
‘No,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Later will be better, and I have plenty to say.’
They’d reached the causeway, where he put her hands firmly onto the stones and told her not to move. She couldn’t have moved in any case. She was half frozen. When he’d climbed up he leaned down, reaching out his hand to grasp hers. She seized it with relief and he hauled her up. She achieved a toehold but slipped back almost at once, and felt a powerful arm shoot out and around her waist.
‘Grab me around the neck,’ he yelled.
She did so and felt herself once more drawn against his body, tense with effort. He lifted her until her feet were clear, and then set her down. Her heart was pounding with
fear, excitement and sheer annoyance at being rescued by this man of all people. She could never account for the first words that came out of her mouth.
‘Who are you calling a beanpole?’
‘Quit yakking and get in.’ He indicated his own vehicle. It was old and shabby but very heavy, and it was holding its ground against the surging water.
‘I’ve got papers on the front seat,’ he said. ‘You get in the back.’
‘With them?’ She indicated the two Alsatians occupying the rear.
‘They won’t mind.’
She climbed gingerly in and sat squashed up against the two dogs, who welcomed her with delighted yelps and licks.
‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Wouldn’t have been necessary if you had any sense,’ he observed.
‘You might have told me there was no bridge.’
‘I tried, but you wouldn’t listen. There’s just the causeway and it’s only above water at low tide. Luckily I was coming this way in any case, so I knew I’d be there to rescue you from your own foolishness.’
‘You’re going to the castle?’
‘Right.’
‘You know Jarvis Larne?’
He gave a brief flickering glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the road. ‘Is it him you’ve come to see?’
‘Yes, and I wish I hadn’t. I didn’t mean to turn up like this.’
‘You sound as if you’ve come a long way.’
‘I’m American,’ she said, answering the implied question. ‘From New York.’
‘That’s quite a distance to see a man who isn’t expecting you. What’s your business with him?’
His familiarity irked her enough to make her snap, ‘I’m thinking of marrying him, actually.’
The stunned quality of his silence was very satisfying. It was nice to have found something that would shut him up.
‘Would you mind saying that again?’ he said at last.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said, wishing she’d held her tongue. It wouldn’t do for this tale to reach Jarvis Larne before she did. ‘What I’ve just told you is in confidence.’
‘You wouldn’t want your engagement announced prematurely,’ he agreed.