He grinned rather satanically. 'Turning out to be quite a night, isn't it?' he agreed.
'But surely there must be other taxi firms?'
He shook his head. 'I tried the only other one in the book, but they're in an even worse position; two of their taxis have been booked by people on an outing to London and won't be back till gone midnight, and one of the others has broken down, so their remaining cab had to go and help. So I'm afraid we'll just have to wait here until one becomes free.'
Lifting his glass, he took a drink of whisky as if he needed it and then turned to look at her, studying her much as she had looked at him earlier. Suddenly becoming extremely conscious of her appearance, Casey picked up her big hold-all-type handbag and, with a muttered, 'Excuse me,' went out to the ladies' cloakroom. As she had hoped, there was a hot-air hand-drier there and she was able to crouch beneath it and dry her hair, fluffing it up until it shone in a golden aureole of soft curls around her head. Next she washed her legs and cleaned her shoes, then re-did her make-up, afterwards stepping back to look at herself in the mirror. Yes, that was better. With her straight black skirt and thin-knit pearl-grey sweater, she looked almost presentable again. Not as good as she'd have liked to have looked while having a drink with a man as arrantly masculine as the pirate, but still… It would have to do, anyway.
Drawing herself up to her full five feet eight inches, Casey left the cloakroom and went back into the bar, pausing in the doorway as some people were coming out. The pirate looked across and saw her, and rose slowly to his feet, his eyes openly looking her over as she walked towards him. His left eyebrow lifting in surprise, he said, 'Quite a transformation.'
Taking that as a compliment—after all, what else could it be after the way she had looked?—Casey smiled and said, 'It's nice to be dry again. But what about you? Your shirt was soaked.'
He looked amused. 'Well, I can hardly take it off and dry it,' he pointed out sardonically. But added, 'Don't worry. I'm used to getting wet. It will soon dry on me.'
Casey nodded and picked up her glass to drink, but was aware that he was watching her.
'Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves, as we're likely to be here for some time,' he suggested. 'My name's Lomax, Reid Lomax.'
Casey almost said 'How do you do,' but felt that it was a bit late in the circumstances, so she merely answered, 'Mine's Casey Everett.'
'An unusual name,' he commented. 'And you live at Barham Ford, I think you said? That's a tiny place a couple of miles off the main road, isn't it?'
'Yes, there are only a few houses and farms there. No shops or pub or anything.'
Reid gave her an appraising look. 'That's rather a lonely place for a young girl to live alone, surely? But perhaps you work in London?'
'No.' She shook her head, her fair hair catching the light. 'No, actually I work at home. I didn't particularly choose Barham Ford to live in, but it was the only place I could find that had a suitable workroom attached to the house.'
His left eyebrow rose questioningly, but Casey suddenly found it strangely unnerving to be able to see only half of his expression and she didn't go on, so he had to prompt her. 'And what work do you do?' he asked, his mouth twisting into a thin smile of self-mockery as if he guessed her thoughts.
'I—I design knitwear. Like this sweater I'm wearing.' His eyes—no, his one eye—moved to look over her and Casey flushed slightly, hurrying to add, 'That's why I went up to London today; to try and get some orders. But my car wouldn't start and I was late, so I…'
He smiled in amusement as her voice faded off and Reid said drily, 'Yes, I think we'd better forget what it led to. Did you get any orders? I like the sweater, by the way.'
'Thank you. Yes, I got a few. But not as many as I'd hoped. The buyers seemed very wary of trusting me to meet the delivery dates I'd promised. I suppose it's because they haven't dealt with me before,' she conjectured, half to herself. 'Once I fulfil these orders, perhaps they'll be more forthcoming.'
'But they liked your designs?' Casey nodded and he said, 'Well, that's encouraging, surely. Do you knit them all by hand yourself?'
'Oh no, they're mostly done on a machine. But I do have a few hand knitters who work for me.'
Reid's mouth curved into a grin, and all the hardness in his face suddenly disappeared, giving him a devil- may-care appearance. 'A business tycoon, no less,' he commented mockingly.
Once she had recovered from the effect of that smile, Casey stiffened, sensitive to any condescension. 'I'm merely trying to earn a living as best I can, that's all,' she said shortly.
Immediately his face sobered. 'I beg your pardon. And I commend your enterprise. It's just that you seem so young to be running your own business.'
'I'm not that young. I'm nearly twenty-two. And everyone has to start somewhere.'
'Oh, undoubtedly.' Picking up their empty glasses he said, 'Would you like another?'
'Yes, but could I have something different, please? A shandy or something?'
'Of course. The whisky was just to keep the cold out, was it?'
She smiled and nodded. 'Purely medicinal.'
Reid smiled back, his eyes resting on her face. 'Look, have you eaten yet this evening?'
'Well, no, but I…'
'Good,' he interrupted, 'because neither have I, what with one thing and another. I'll see if I can persuade the barmaid to find us something to eat.'
Perhaps the barmaid found him attractive, too, because when he came back with the drinks, he said, 'They'll bring us something in about ten minutes. You were telling me about your business,' he prompted, turning so that he gave her his full attention.
'Was I?' Casey rather doubted that; she didn't usually launch into her life-story with someone she hardly knew.
She shrugged. 'There's nothing much to tell really. I just think up the designs and work them out, then try to sell them.'
'And are you successful?'
'Hardly. At the moment I just about make ends meet, but I only started a few months ago, so hopefully things will improve.' Deciding that she had talked enough about herself, and more than a little curious about her companion, she said, 'How about you? What do you do for a living?'
It was Reid's turn to shrug. 'Oh, I'm in business too. But I can't claim to be an entrepreneur like you. Mine is a family firm, started by my grandfather. We build boats,' he explained.
'Really? I shouldn't have thought there was much call for boats round here.'
'But I don't live here in Westbridge. I live about twenty miles away, near Waterleigh, on the edge of Salford Lake. Do you know it?'
Casey shook her head. 'No, I don't know that side of the county at all, really. And is your business successful, Mr Lomax?' she asked, throwing back at him the question that still rankled.
He laughed. 'Yes, I'm afraid it is. But mine has had over fifty years to establish itself.'
Yes, he would be successful, Casey thought. One look at his well cut clothes and the gold watch on his wrist told you that; and his car, too, had been new and expensive. There was an air of prosperity about him that spelt success and achievement. He was a go-getter, this man, and Casey was convinced that even if he hadn't had his business handed to him on a plate he would have made a success of whatever he had turned his hand to. It was there in the toughness of his jaw, in the energy that emanated from him, and the intelligence that shone from his good eye.
Casey looked away, feeling strangely unsettled, and was glad to see the barmaid coming towards them with a loaded tray. 'Here's our food,' she told him, and moved her glass out of the way so that the girl could put down bowls of steaming hot soup and hunks of crispy French bread with lots of pats of butter. 'Mm, that smells good,' Casey observed, realising just how hungry she was.
Reid looked at her slender, almost boyish figure. 'When did you eat last?'
'Oh, I don't know,' she shrugged. 'I only had time for a cup of coffee at lunch time.'
'And did you eat breakfast this morning?'
'No, there
wasn't time. I was working late last night to finish a sample sweater and I overslept.'
'Shall I tell you the one most important thing in running a one-man—or one-woman—business?' Reid asked her, but went on before she could speak. 'It's to realise that your own health is your most important asset. Skipping meals and overworking may seem essential at the time, but it never pays in the long run. New ideas don't come to tired minds, and when you're feeling low you make mistakes which often take twice as much work to put right.' He paused, looking at her, then said, 'I'm sorry. Gratuitous advice from a stranger is probably the last thing you want.'
Casey shook her head. 'Not if it comes from experience. But today is an exception. Usually I eat and sleep properly.'
Again his eye went over her, but he made no comment other than to say, 'Eat your soup.' Which was probably comment enough in itself.
They didn't talk much while they ate the soup, or the fluffy omelettes that followed, but Casey took the opportunity to look around her. She hadn't been in this pub before; it was quite old, with a collection of antique guns fastened to the blackened beams, and lots of plants in gleaming copper and brass holders that caught the flickering light of the fire. There were several other people in the small bar, but it wasn't at all crowded, there were just enough to make it seem convivial and friendly. Casey ate the last scrap of her omelette and sat back in her seat contentedly, thinking that maybe the day hadn't turned out to be so bad, after all.
'Feeling better?' Reid asked her.
'Yes, thank you.' She reached for her bag. 'How much do I owe you for the meal, by the way?'
He made a dismissive gesture. 'Nothing. It's my pleasure.'
'Oh, but I can't let you do that. Especially after all the trouble I've caused you. And besides…'
'Yes? Besides what?'
'Well,' Casey said awkwardly. 'I don't really know you.'
His mouth quirking in amusement, Reid said, 'Well, that can soon be remedied. Tell me all about yourself.'
'There's really nothing to tell.'
'Women always say that. Usually it means that they're being modest, or else that they've got something to hide. Which is it with you?'
There was a teasing note in his voice as if he was quite sure that it was only modesty that held her back, and Casey felt an overpowering urge to come out with something that would really shock him. But maybe he wouldn't be shocked at that; anyone who could sum up a woman's reactions like that must have known a lot of women and be very experienced. Or perhaps it merely meant that he was married. She sneaked a look at his hands, but he wore no ring—not that that meant very much, men didn't have to wear a symbol of bondage as women did, he could be married with half a dozen children. He was certainly old enough to be; Casey judged that he must be in his early thirties, thirty-two or three, she guessed, and suddenly felt an uncharacteristic stab of envy for the unknown woman who was married to so charismatic a man.
Hastily she pulled her thoughts away and said, 'There really isn't. I went to school and then on to art college, and worked for a year in the rag trade before starting up on my own.' She smiled. 'But I hope to improve on that before too long.'
'I'm quite sure you will. As long as you don't have too many days like today.'
'Definitely,' Casey agreed feelingly. 'Look, I really am sorry that I've been such a nuisance to you.' And then, before she could stop herself, added, 'I hope that your wife wasn't keeping dinner for you or anything.'
The mocking line at the corner of Reid's mouth deepened. 'Unfortunately I'm not married so I don't have anyone waiting at home for me. Not even a fiancée, or a steady girlfriend at the moment.' His eye flickered over her. 'How about you?'
'Why no, of course not.' Casey's cheeks started to flush,
'I told you, I live alone.'
'And no fiancé or boyfriend?' She shook her head and he said, 'Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way,' again with that amused smile.
Embarrassed, Casey looked down at her drink. This man was just too astute for comfort. Hurriedly she said, 'I don't know that many people around here. I've been too busy with the business to go out very much.' To her annoyance she heard a defensive note in her voice.
'You should make a point of taking time off. All work and no play, you know.'
Casey sat up straight, suddenly very loath to have him think her dull. Tossing her head, she said, 'Oh, I have loads of friends.'
‘I don't doubt it. But presumably you have other hobbies and interests besides your work? Let me see,' he paused, looking at her consideringly. 'I bet you like dancing, going out for meals, the ballet and—going to the theatre,' he hazarded.
Casey's hazel eyes danced with laughter. 'It would be a pretty safe bet. Don't most girls like all those things? But you're wrong about the ballet; I've never been to one so I don't know whether I like it or not. But I love going to the theatre. And to the cinema, when there are any decent films on.' Still somewhat in awe of Reid, she said rather tentatively, 'How about you? What are your interests?'
'I guessed yours. Aren't you going to guess mine?'
The way he looked at her when he said it, and the slightly suggestive note in his voice, almost made Casey say women. With a man her own age, or with someone she knew much better, she probably would have done, facetiously, of course. But with Reid… He was an entirely different proposition. For one thing he was much older than the usual men she dated, and far more sure of himself. Also there was this undertone of mockery in his manner, as if he didn't take her very seriously—or was it perhaps himself that he didn't take seriously? Whichever it was, Casey found it extremely intriguing. And his air of contained toughness was attractive too, so that she couldn't judge him by comparing him to the men she knew.
Tilting her head to one side, she looked at him pensively, more used now to his injured eye and able to look him in the face. His good eye, she noticed, was dark and flecked like bloodstones, and he had a cleft chin which made her think of the old adage: cleft chin, the devil's within.
'Well?' he asked with mock impatience. 'Surely it can't be all that difficult?'
'But it is. Somehow I can't imagine you doing the things that most men do: playing cricket or golf, going to the pub with your friends, or having lots of business lunches.'
He looked at her with interest. 'No? What, then?'
She shrugged rather helplessly. 'I don't know. I somehow feel that you ought to do something that's exciting, stimulating. Something that takes nerve. Oh dear!' She broke off to laugh. 'I sound like a fortuneteller.'
Reid smiled. 'Maybe you should take it up. That's not at all bad.'
'You do something like that, then?' Casey asked in surprise.
'Something. Oh, I do all the other things as well, like playing squash—to get fit again after the business lunches-—but my main interest is racing.'
'Racing? You mean horses? Or cars?'
Reid shook his dark head. 'Nothing as glamorous as that. I build and race power-boats. Formula One,' he added after a moment's hesitation.
Casey gave him a rather blank look. 'Er—Formula One-—should that mean something?'
He gave a rich laugh. 'Obviously not. But don't worry, the world of power-boat racing is a very small and contained one.'
It must be, Casey thought. She could only remember an occasional coverage of races on the television, and then it was only aerial shots of boats racing down the Thames or going round and round a marked course off the coast. As he had said, nowhere near as exciting as horse or car racing, but fascinating enough. And she had been right about him, which pleased her. 'Where do you race?' she asked him. 'On that lake near where you live? Salford Lake, wasn't it?'
'Yes, that's right.' Reid gave her a lazy smile and she had the feeling that he was inwardly amused again. 'I practise there quite a lot, but I have to go away to race.'
'And are you good? Do you win lots of races?'
'My boats are good. I just sit in them and steer.'
Casey very much
doubted that and opened her mouth to ask him more about it, but just then the bar door opened and a man came in and called, 'Anyone here order a taxi?' So there was no time to talk further until they had gathered up their belongings and were seated in the back of the taxi, which was just an ordinary car, the driver probably moonlighting to earn some extra money.
'Lucky I'm going in the same direction,' Reid remarked. 'We'll be able to drop you off on the way.' He turned to look at her in the semi-darkness. 'I expect you'll be glad to get home?'
A couple of hours ago Casey would have given a fervent 'yes' to that question, but now she found that she could quite happily have gone on sitting in the pub with Reid, talking, finding out more about him. Only she couldn't tell him that of course, so she just, said, 'Yes. Won't you?'
He nodded. 'But you still have the problem of getting your car going tomorrow morning. What will you do?'
'I think I'll have to buy a new battery. That one was pretty useless, anyway. I'll go into Westbridge on the bus and get the garage where I buy the battery from to fix it on for me.' A thought occurred to her and she put a hand to her mouth. 'Oh no, I've just realised; you'll have to take a taxi into Westbridge again tomorrow to collect your car. Oh lord, I'm terribly sor…'
Leaning across, Reid put a finger over her lips. 'It's nothing,' he told her dismissively. 'I can send someone to collect it.'
'But I must at least pay for the taxi,' Casey insisted. 'If it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have needed it'
'Casey.' Reid's eye held a menacing glint. 'Will you please shut up?'
Realising that she had no choice, Casey said gratefully, 'It's really very kind of you. I don't think many people would have taken it the way you have. Thank you.'
Reid laughed. 'Ah, but then not many damsels in distress are as pretty as you.'
The driver turned round to ask her which was her house and Casey could have killed him for interrupting something that sounded so promising. 'Oh, it's the fifth one along. The cottage with the thatched roof.' She turned eagerly back to Reid, but he didn't go on and the taxi stopped so she had to say, 'Well, goodnight. And thanks again for—for the meal and everything.'
Ultimatum Page 2