by Linda Miles
They hadn’t passed more than three or four doors when they had to hide behind a suit of armour while a maid in a black uniform crossed the corridor with an armful of towels. They were about to go on when what looked like a genuine butler, with an actual decanter on an actual silver salver, came up the stairs and proceeded at a stately pace towards them. Luckily he turned aside to enter a room a few doors down, and, on emerging, returned the way he had come.
Grant jerked his head at the door. ‘Maybe something going on in there we should know about,’ he whispered. ‘Come on.’ He moved silently across the corridor to the door next to the one the butler had used, and after listening a moment opened it carefully and slipped inside.
Rachel followed, relieved to be out of that long, dangerous corridor. She had no time to take in the magnificence of their new surroundings. Grant was already at the window. She could see his reasoning: they could hear the murmur of voices next door, but no words—if the window was open next door they might catch more.
Grant eased open the window and listened carefully. A few phrases could be heard—someone said angrily, ‘Look, I’ve done my’ part and I want to know when I’ll be paid!’
There was a murmur they couldn’t hear, and then someone else said in exasperation, ‘What in God’s name possessed you to come here? I can’t be seen to be involved!’
But then the voices dropped, as if both had remembered the need for discretion. Grant scowled.
‘Now what do we do?’ asked Rachel. ‘Listen at the keyhole?’
Grant shook his head. ‘Too risky.’
Oh, good, Rachel thought with relief. Now they’d get out of here and call the police. She’d actually started walking back to the door when she realised that Grant wasn’t with her. Not only was he not with her but he was halfway out of the window; she was just in time to see his remaining leg swing over the windowsill and disappear.
She went to the window and found that Grant was now inching his way along a narrow ledge which ran the length of the building. Of course, that would be his idea of playing safe, she thought indignantly.
At first she simply watched, at once fascinated and horrified. The ledge couldn’t have been more than a few inches wide, and the smooth brickwork of the house gave nothing to grip. Rachel was deliberately not looking down, but she knew perfectly well that there was a hard marble pavement below. Grant, however, was moving as easily as if there were a foot-wide surface beneath his feet and a drop of a few inches behind him.
He was already several feet away, and there was nothing Rachel could do to help. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her fists in her pockets. One gripped a waterproof pen, the other… The other, she realised, had closed on her tiny tape recorder.
Rachel bit her lip in frustration. Grant was too far away for her to hand him the recorder, and she obviously couldn’t call out to him, and… Rachel looked bitterly down at the ground, which seemed to be an awfully long way away. There was only one thing to do. She would have to go after him.
Rachel swung a leg over the windowsill and lowered herself gingerly down. Gripping the sill, she brought over her other leg. Her feet were about four sizes smaller than Grant’s, she reminded herself. On the other hand, one of the two people could fill a generously shaped brassière, and it happened to be the one who didn’t like heights. Never mind, she told herself bracingly. Years from now you’ll look back on this and laugh.
Making sure the tape recorder was in the pocket nearest Grant, Rachel began inching her way along the ledge. He was right about one thing, anyway—you could hear the voices loud and clear. She’d already set the tape recorder going; she just hoped it was picking this up.
‘Where the hell is Mallett? We can’t do anything without him.’ It was a man’s voice—one that sounded vaguely familiar.
‘I keep telling you I don’t know!’ The frustrated, petulant voice was unmistakably Olivia’s. ‘I talked to him on the phone a few nights ago and he seemed fine. Then when I called his hotel after the story broke they didn’t know where he’d gone.’
‘Well, keep trying, will you? The takeover can’t go through unless he releases some shares; the board is relying on you to do your part.’
‘Oh, he’ll listen to me,’ Olivia said confidently. ‘He always does what I say sooner or later.’
‘He wasn’t very co-operative about Glomac’s original approach,’ the interlocutor’s voice said sceptically, and Rachel suddenly recognised it as Matheson’s.
‘He has an idealistic streak, but obviously when the company’s value has plummeted he’ll see he has no choice.’ Olivia’s tone was slightly contemptuous; Rachel couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Grant to hear this. She just wished he didn’t have to hear it standing over a forty-foot drop.
‘Assuming we can keep the story running long enough. I’m worried about all these people who keep nosing around. All it takes is one journalist to get a close look at these alleged rare species on site…’ Matheson fretted. ‘Where the hell is Griffiths, anyway?’ he demanded irritably. ‘We sent him to look in on them half an hour ago. We know about the girl, but who’s this man they’ve brought in?’
‘How should I know?’ snapped Olivia.
‘The whole thing has been a shambles from first to last,’ Matheson complained. ‘This should never have happened—if Parry had stuck to insects instead of planting things that died on the spot, we’d have nothing to worry about.’
‘But Olivia told me to go ahead with the plants.” Rachel knew that voice anyway—it was Driscoll at his most aggrieved.
‘Yes,’ Olivia agreed bitterly. ‘Because you told me you could make it look convincing. Obviously if you’d been able to get the things to grow we’d have preferred solid evidence to asking people to take your word for what you’d seen.’
That was exactly what they needed, Rachel thought. If only she could be sure the tape recorder was getting it all! Clinging precariously to the wall with her left hand, she moved her right hand to her pocket and brought out the tiny recorder. She was afraid of startling Grant, but she slowly stretched out her hand in the direction of the window.
She must have made some slight noise. Grant’s head whipped round. His eyes met Rachel’s for one blistering moment before shifting to the tape recorder she held towards him.
That single furious glance was enough. Rachel’s eyes flinched away from his—and she made the mistake of accidentally looking down.
Her head swam at the sight of the ground, far below. If only Grant would take the tape recorder so she could cling to the wall! She teetered wildly on the ledge, and for one terrible moment thought she was actually going to fall backwards—but suddenly her arm was anchored against the wall. Grant’s hand gripped her wrist, holding her steady, and the tape recorder slipped from her hand to smash on the marble forty feet down.
‘What was that?’ Olivia asked sharply. ‘I heard something.’
‘The window’s loose in the next room,’ said Matheson. ‘The wind must have shaken it. You’re letting your nerves get to you.’
‘I heard something, I tell you,’ Olivia insisted.
‘This is a waste of time.’ Matheson was impatient. ‘I don’t know why you came over here. You’d better get back to Arrowmead; if Mallett tries to get in touch I want you there.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’ll be in touch with you in due course, Dr Parry,’ Matheson added, his voice smooth. ‘In the meantime, I can’t emphasise enough that discretion is everything in a matter like this; if you jeopardise my position again by coming here I shall consider myself released of all obligations towards you and take steps accordingly. Do I make myself clear?’
Driscoll mumbled something.
‘I’ll see you both out,’ Matheson added pleasantly, ‘and then have a word with Griffiths. I’m extremely annoyed that you had him bring these people here, Parry. I thought Miss St Clair might need his services; that doesn’t mean I want him to turn up on my doorstep with everythin
g he catches.’
Chairs scraped on the floor, footsteps crossed the room. A door opened, and shut.
Rachel held Grant’s eyes in desperation. She knew she couldn’t go back the way she’d come. But soon people would be coming out of the house; they’d only have to look up to see a couple of human flies plastered to its side, and if they saw the dropped tape recorder they’d be bound to look up.
‘Don’t worry,’ Grant mouthed to her silently. ‘Come this way.’
Still gripping her wrist, he inched along the ledge to the window of the vacated room. He glanced inside to make sure the coast was clear, then held onto the window-frame while Rachel steadily edged towards him.
When she had both hands on the windowsill he swung inside, then grasped both her wrists and pulled her in. His blue eyes were shooting sparks again, though probably not because he was having a wonderful time. He looked furious.
‘Ever done any climbing before?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Rachel admitted. ‘But I thought we should get a recording of what they were saying. I’m sorry I dropped the tape recorder; why didn’t you grab it?’
‘Why do you think?’ he retorted.
‘There was absolutely no need to hold onto me,’ Rachel informed him. ‘I’d have been fine if I’d had my hand free.’
Grant scowled at her, his blue eyes crackling with annoyance. For a moment she thought he’d argue the point; then he remembered where they were.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said tersely.
They checked that the coast was clear in the corridor, then dashed back to the stairs and hurried down to the ground floor. It was deserted.
They both realised that they were running out of time: at any moment Matheson would discover their escape. They ran for the door, not worrying about noise.
Outside, in the driveway, Grant’s Jaguar was parked neatly on the gravel.
‘She took my car!’ exclaimed Grant, staring at it incredulously.
‘More to the point,’ said Rachel, ‘can we take your car? Do you have your keys?’
Grant shook his head. ‘I left them in my desk; Olivia must have taken them. But there’s a spare under the chassis. Let’s go!’
He pelted across the gravel to the Jaguar with Rachel in hot pursuit, then dropped to the ground and slid head and shoulders under the car.
Minute followed heart-stopping minute. She could hear Grant muttering numbers under his breath. A spare key on a bit of string or tape hadn’t been good enough for the Jag, for obvious reasons; no, it had a marvel of a combination-locked box which not only kept out thieves but was an effective owner-deterrent as well. Grant had moved on from numbers to more interesting language; Rachel had stopped breathing. Why didn’t he hurry?
At last, when her heart seemed to have lodged permanently in her throat, he rolled out from under the car with a shout of triumph and leapt to his feet. He unlocked his own door, dropped into the seat, and unlocked Rachel’s door in the same instant that he turned on the ignition.
The door of the house opened behind them.
Rachel ran round to the passenger side, got in, and slammed the door. The Jaguar took off in a hail of gravel.
As they pulled away from the house, Rachel heard odd pinging sounds from the back of the car. She thought at first it was gravel flying up; then there was a loud cracking noise from the rear window.
Rachel turned around in her seat. There was, she discovered, an unmistakable bullet hole in the rear window of the car.
So much had happened that she couldn’t even feel afraid. At least Grant would be happy, she thought resignedly. Someone was shooting at him at last.
‘The nerve of these people,’ said Grant, gunning the accelerator. ‘You don’t shoot at a car like this; you might hurt it.’
‘They might hurt us too,’ Rachel pointed out.
‘Not a hope,’ said Grant. ‘Their aim is atrocious. It was probably in much more danger just being driven by Olivia. If I’d realised she was the kind of girl to endanger an innocent car I’d have known I couldn’t trust her—it just never occurred to me that anyone could sink so low.’ The Jaguar was already half a mile from the house. Rachel realised that the shots had died down. Grant grinned at her. ‘They can’t have wanted to kill us, you know. Too dangerous. Probably just wanted to puncture a tyre.’
The car hurtled down another mile or so of driveway and out onto the main road.
‘Now,’ said Grant, in a tone of strong resolution, ‘there’s something I’ve got to do that can’t wait any longer.’
‘Call the police?’ Rachel said hopefully.
‘Oh, no, that can wait. Something much more important.’ He gave the steering wheel a sudden spin; the car turned, on two wheels, into a narrow side road which twisted erratically into a wood. A couple of minutes went by, while they went deeper into the wood. At last he pulled the car off onto a grassy space and turned off the engine.
Rachel stared blankly around her.
‘Rachel,’ said Grant, turning to face her, ‘there’s something I’ve got to talk to you about.’
Suddenly Rachel understood. ‘If you don’t want to call the police after all, I’ll understand,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I know how you must feel.’
‘Do you, now?’ His voice was odd.
‘I heard what they were saying,’ said Rachel. ‘I recognised Olivia’s voice. It must have been a terrible shock for you.’
Grant was staring at her, his expression as odd as his tone of voice. ‘Rachel—’
‘Why don’t we just go back to my aunt’s house?’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in a day or so. Why, I feel better already,’ she assured him. ‘What’s one little bump on the head and a couple of scraped wrists? I won’t bother about pressing charges if you’d rather just forget the whole thing.’
Grant’s eyes sparkled suddenly. ‘Spoken like a real trooper,’ he said. ‘But that wasn’t what I was thinking about. I don’t know whether you realise it, but most of my money was tied up in the company.’
‘Was it?’ asked Rachel sympathetically.
‘My shares are practically worthless now. Our rating shot through the roof when people recognised the potential of the wonder drug a couple of years ago—I grabbed the chance to issue more shares and raise capital for the conference centre and science park. I had to move fast because it was a good location and going for a great price. Now the stock market has overreacted—the value of the shares has fallen so far it’ll take a miracle to get people interested again. It’ll take money to fight Glomac, but the only way I could get it now would be to sell more shares—and right now Glomac are the only people in the market for them.’
‘Hmm,’ said Rachel. She couldn’t see why Grant was bothering to tell her all this. He must know she didn’t know anything about finance.
‘I’m not a millionaire, Rachel. I’m broke, and probably out of a job, but I think I can consider myself released from my engagement. Will you marry me?’
‘Of course,’ said Rachel. ‘But—’
She never got to finish the sentence. He pulled her into his arms and began kissing her with a thoroughness and enthusiasm that made all the other times look like practice runs.
Rachel put her arms round his neck and kissed him back. She knew she was probably insane. She’d just agreed to spend the rest of her life with a man who would probably spend the rest of his life alternately dodging and chasing desperadoes. Once, nothing would have seemed too high a price to pay to escape wading through swamps and hacking through jungles. Now, she realised recklessly, she simply didn’t care where she went as long as Grant was there too.
His mouth lingered on hers with the heady sweetness she remembered. She’d never realised that you could be so happy it hurt: whenever she thought that he was actually hers she felt as though her heart might burst through her ribs. She could spend the rest of her life kissing Grant while the bullets whizzed overhead. She could do all the unthinkable things she’d kept thi
nking of when he’d belonged to somebody else. In fact, she realised, her mouth curling wickedly under his, she could hardly wait to get him somewhere really private.
‘I think we both know that we’d be good together…’ She remembered the grim frustration when he’d tried to put her out of his life. Well, they would be good together. They’d be wonderful together. It would be wonderful even when they weren’t making love…
Rachel could remember trying to explain her feelings to Driscoll, his frequent complete inability to understand her. Grant, on the other hand, understood her almost without any need for words. She hadn’t realised it was possible to be so happy.
He raised his head at last, the impossibly blue eyes holding her mesmerised. ‘God, what a fool I’ve been!’
He bent his head again, his lips grazing hers. Rachel knew how he felt: it was hard to get used to the idea that each kiss was not the last, that there was absolutely no reason not to have another. It was hard to get used to not having to watch herself all the time, to not worrying about whether she was going too far. Well, maybe not that hard, she decided, burying her hands in his hair. She coaxed his mouth open again, her lips soft against his, then thrust her tongue deep inside. He laughed deep in his throat, his arms tightening around her again.
This time it was Rachel who at last, reluctantly, broke free. ‘This is ridiculous, Grant,’ she said, forcing herself not to kiss the firm sensuous mouth again. ‘We should be doing something practical. We’ve got the rest of our lives for this kind of thing.’
‘Well, you know what they say,’ said Grant. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Always begin as you mean to go on. Pleasure before duty—that’s my motto.’
Rachel laughed. ‘Well, you’re the ex-multimillionaire,’ she said. ‘If you’re not worried about it, who am I to complain?’
He grinned. ‘I don’t know, you might have a hankering after Paris couture. Sure you don’t mind?’