Stranger in the Night

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Dozens,' he agreed, smiling.

  She went back into the kitchen and took her. coffee and some fruit out into the sunshine. Macey clambered out of the pool, running his hands through his wet hair. Clare poured him a cup of coffee and he sat down and sipped it, staring at the sky.

  Clare ate a peach, drank her coffee and turned over the pages of a French magazine. Macey didn't say a word.

  When the telephone went he grimaced at her. 'What's the betting that that's Rowena?' Pulling himself out of the deckchair, he went into the house. Clare poured herself some more coffee.

  He came back a few moments later. Clare looked up at him and Macey grinned at her. 'She wants us both this time. The old girl's thrown in her hand.'

  Clare shook her head. 'No, you go, Macey. Let her down lightly. Leave me out of it.'

  Macey surveyed her. 'That might be tactful,' he agreed after a moment. 'She need never know you were aware what she was up to.'

  'Even if she does know, it would be better if I wasn't around this time,' said Clare. 'Let it all blow over.'

  He nodded. 'What will you do?'

  'Drop me in Nice,' said Clare. 'I'll do some shopping.'

  They drove into Nice, half an hour later. Macey dropped her on the Promenade des Anglais as she requested, then shot off to Rowena's villa, promising to meet her again later that afternoon.

  Clare stood watching people sunbathing on the narrow gravelly beach while the water ran up towards them and fell back like a tired whisper. Yachts zigzagged along the blue waves some way from the shore. A boy on a sailboard capsized, shrieking with laughter, and people looked up to smile as he bobbed about in the sea.

  Turning away, Clare waited to cross the road. A car shot past, halted, reversed. She automatically looked in at the driver and stiffened as she recognised him. 'Get in,' he invited softly.

  Clare didn't answer. She turned to hurry across the road and heard his car door slam as he climbed out and met her. People looked round to stare curiously.

  'Get in, Charleston girl,' he said again, holding her arm. The long fingers were not hurting, but the look in the grey eyes warned her that they could, and would, if she didn't do as he asked.

  'Leave me alone,' she muttered, careful to keep her tone low, not wishing to become the centre of a public row which was already attracting interested stares.

  'We have to talk.'

  'We've got nothing to talk about,' Clare told him, voice rising.

  'Maybe I should talk to Janson,' he said.

  She stiffened, reading the deliberate note in his voice. 'Blackmail?' She looked at him with biting contempt. 'Get lost! The only thing that will happen if you tell Macey anything is that he'll smash you into the middle of next week.' Her green eyes lashed him. 'You're scared stiff of him. Do you think I didn't notice? You're very brave when it comes to pushing women around, but Macey is out of your class.'

  His face ran with angry colour. He looked at her, the handsome features sullen. Clare couldn't imagine what she had ever seen in him. Only an innocent, unsophisticated adolescent could ever be fooled by those dazzling looks. It didn't take much intelligence to see through them.

  Luke climbed back into his car and shot away at a terrific pace, his tyres screeching on the road. A young gendarme strolling along the promenade halted to stare after him. I hope he's taking the number, Clare thought maliciously. I hope Luke Murry is going to get a summons for dangerous driving.

  She wandered away into the town and did her shopping. After that, she had lunch at a quiet little restaurant where the food was good and the surroundings peaceful.

  Macey was late. She had to wait for him for ten minutes and when he arrived he apologised, his face wry. 'Rowena kept me talking.'

  'Is it settled?'

  'More or less. She just dropped the subject of Ray— I think she's finally got the point that I'm not open to that sort of pressure. She talked about the play all the time. She's very enthusiastic.'

  'Of course she is,' said Clare, laughing. 'It's a good play.'

  Macey smiled. 'Rowena's enthusiasm will make a difference with Phil,' he pointed out. 'He likes a racing certainty before he gambles on anything. Rowena will help sell it to his accountants.' He turned to give her a grin. 'Not to mention you.'

  'I'm not in her class.'

  'You will be,' he said seriously. 'Rowena's the past— you're the future.'

  'Don't go all Delphic on me,' she teased. 'You make my blood run cold!'

  They began to drive up the winding mountain road and Macey's hands tightened on the wheel. 'Murry wasn't there,' he said, not looking at her.

  Clare didn't say anything.

  Macey shot her a look. 'No comment?'

  'What comment do you want? I'm not his keeper.'

  'You didn't see him?'

  'Yes, I've been in bed with him all afternoon,' she said on a note of bitter sarcasm.

  Macey flinched and said something under his breath that she pretended not to hear.

  'Well, why did you ask?' Clare muttered.

  'Sorry,' he said through his teeth.

  'So I should think! You're not the Spanish Inquisition.'

  Macey turned the car into the drive leading to the villa. 'I told myself I wouldn't even mention his name,' he said brusquely. 'Forget I ever did.'

  'Gladly,' said Clare. 'Don't mention it again. If you want it on record, I hate the sound of his name and I don't want to talk about him. Can you remember that, do you think? Or do you need it in writing?'

  'Don't, Clare,' muttered Macey, running a hand through his black hair in a furious movement which spoke of barely controlled rage. 'Can't you see that the very violence with which you react every time his name comes up makes me more aware than ever of something between you?'

  'There's nothing between us,' Clare burst out, getting out of the car. She walked away and Macey caught up with her.

  'Why won't you tell me what happened in the past?' he asked, halting her with one hand curled round her wrist. 'Can't you see it's driving me out of my mind? I've got to know. It goes round and round my head until I feel like screaming. What happened?'

  She looked at him with a white line around her mouth. Macey wasn't going to drop the subject; he was going to dig away until he forced it out of her.

  Fierce hot colour flared into her face as she met his insistent eyes. She felt pain eating at her. She was going to have to tell him and then it would all be over between them. Macey would never look at her with tenderness again. She would see his blue eyes change, his face reject her.

  Slowly she nodded. 'Very well.'

  Macey's hand slackened and dropped. She turned and walked into the house and he watched her. Clare sat down in one of the chairs, her head bent.

  'Want a drink?' Macey asked in a clipped voice.

  She nodded and he moved to the cabinet. She heard the chink of glass, the smooth movement as he came back to her and pressed a glass into her hand. He had given her whisky. She did not like it much, but she drank it, wincing at the fiery impact as it hit her throat. Macey stood with his own glass in his hand, sipping the whisky. Clare couldn't look at him.

  'I met him at a New Year party when I was eighteen —a friend took me. I'd never drunk much before and I drank far too much without even realising it. By the time I met him I was past knowing what I was doing. We danced and talked, and then he suggested we found a quieter party.'

  Macey stiffened. She felt the involuntary movement but didn't look up.

  'I was too dumb to understand what he meant, and I went along with him.'

  Macey said something under his breath. She didn't catch it, but it sounded violent.

  Clare looked into her glass. It was empty. She twisted it in her cold hands. 'Do I have to fill in the gaps?' 'No,' Macey said harshly. 'I think I'd already guessed at most of it. I hoped I was wrong.'

  She wished she hadn't drunk all the whisky; she needed some. 'No,' she said bitterly. 'You're far too clever to be wrong, Macey.'

&
nbsp; There was a silence for a moment, then Macey said: 'He hurt you.'

  She laughed shortly. 'That's an understatement!' Macey swore hoarsely. 'Why the hell didn't you tell someone?'

  'Rape?' she asked in a slow, tired voice. 'How many people would believe me? I went with him of my own accord. And to do him justice, I suppose he thought I was willing, too. He thought I knew what he wanted. How was he to guess I was as thick as a plank?'

  Macey walked over to the cabinet and poured himself another drink. Clare held out her glass, still avoiding his eyes. 'I'd like another, please.'

  Silently he refilled her glass and she drank some of the whisky. She felt it circulating in her veins a moment later and was grateful for the induced warmth.

  'The bastard,' Macey said suddenly, his tone raw. 'I'll kill him! I'll spoil that face of his for life.'

  'I'll hold your coat,' said Clare, and laughed shiveringly.

  Macey put down his glass and came towards her and she cried: 'No, Macey!' She couldn't bear him to touch her. She felt her skin would shrivel if a man laid a hand on her at the moment. She was shivering violently, her teeth chattering, grating together so that her jaw ached with tension and her face felt alive with nerves, her skin leaping and burning.

  Macey stopped a foot away. He stood very still, watching her, and she heard the rough intake of his breath. 'Why on earth didn't you tell me all this long ago?' he asked.

  'Do you expect me to boast about it?'

  Macey was silent.

  'Do you think I like remembering it?' Clare asked with a trembling sigh.

  'The other night when you had that nightmare,' Macey said slowly, 'was that what you were dreaming about?'

  She nodded without lifting her head.

  'And I chose that moment to try to make love to you!' Macey's voice was deep and shaken. 'No wonder you went white! No wonder you've always been so scared of sex. My God, if I ever set eyes on that swine again I'll beat him into flinders!'

  She remembered the way he had looked at Luke Murry when he found him here. 'I suspect he guesses that,' she said drily. Luke had been frightened, and no wonder. Macey was enough to frighten anybody when his powerful body was tense with violence.

  She heard Macey move and shrank. He knelt beside her, not touching her, speaking in a low, husky voice. 'Maybe you should have told someone about it long ago, darling. Keeping it all locked inside your head was a silly idea. I knew something was eating away at you. I refused to believe it was just that you were emotionally cold and I was right, wasn't I? Shock can play funny tricks on people. If you'd told someone when it first happened you wouldn't have frozen in on yourself for years.'

  She registered the tone of his voice and a faint hope stirred inside her. Macey didn't sound disgusted or contemptuous. Her lashes flickered on her cheek. She turned her head to steal a look at him through them and found him watching her, a passionate intensity in his blue eyes. She trembled slightly, shy and confused.

  For the first time in their relationship she blushed as Macey looked at her and felt her pulses racing at wrist and throat.

  He didn't move, but his eyes narrowed, watching the hot colour stealing up her neck and face.

  'Feeling better, darling?' he asked with a sudden husky amusement.

  Macey was far too clever, far too quick, not to be able to read her reactions accurately. His mind moved at the speed of light, his grasp of the human mind sensitive and understanding.

  'Thank you, Macey,' she whispered.

  'For what?' He was surprised, staring at her.

  'For being so kind, for understanding.'

  She could almost hear the rapid, shrewd thoughts flashing through his head.

  'You didn't expect it to make any difference to how I felt about you?'

  Her silence answered him. After a pause he said huskily, 'Not a chance, darling. I'm totally hooked on you. Don't you know that? If you had loved Murry and had the faintest chance of being happy with him, I'd have stood aside and let him have you, even though it would have killed me to do it. But knowing what that swine did to you doesn't make me feel any differently about you. Him I'd like to cut into a thousand tiny pieces, but you! How could you think for one moment that it would matter a damn to me, except to make me wish I could have prevented it?'

  Her mouth trembled at the deep tenderness of his voice. Macey watched her, then put a tentative hand to her cheek, stroking down the hot curve of her face, his fingers delicate. Every nerve in her skin reacted to the touch of his hand. She was astonished by the force of her own response. Before she had a chance to react, Macey stood up.

  Moving away, he said briskly: 'Now, before we drop the subject for good, am I right in suspecting that Murry has been trying to make it with you again?'

  The sickness came back. She nodded silently, her eyes on her clenched hands.

  'And you've told him no?'

  She looked up then, her face flaring with angry colour. 'I told him to get lost' ,

  'Then I think the rest is up to me,' said Macey with a savage satisfaction.

  Clare felt alarm quiver through her. 'What do you mean?'

  'I'm going over there now to sort him out,' Macey said through his teeth. 'I'll teach that swine a lesson he won't forget in a hurry. He'll need plastic surgery when I've finished with him!'

  'No, Macey,' she begged, but said it to his back as he walked out with the rapid motion of a tiger scenting blood. Clare leapt to her feet to follow him, her colour going. She ran out of the house, but Macey had already started the car. Before Clare could reach him the engine roared and the car shot away through the gates and turned towards Nice.

  Clare stood there, horrified. The best that could happen was that Macey would create a scandal that would cause a great deal of curious, excited talk. At the worst, he might do Luke Murry some serious damage that could get him into trouble with the law. She had never seen Macey look like that. His blue eyes had been alive with violence.

  She thought fast, realising what she must do. Hurrying back into the house, she ran to the phone, then realised she did not have Rowena's number. It took her several moments to find the little book into which Macey had written it a few days ago. She dialled the number with shaking hands.

  Ray answered, her voice cool when she recognised Clare's voice. She sounded surprised when Clare asked for Luke Murry.

  Luke's voice came on the line a moment later. He sounded curt and wary. 'Yes?'

  Clare did not waste time on courtesy. 'Macey's on his way over there and he's in a mood to do murder. If I were you, I'd get on the first plane.'

  She hung up without waiting to hear his response. She had warned him. She didn't really care what happened to him. All that bothered her was Macey. Clare did not want Macey getting into trouble because of her.

  She stood at the window, staring out over the garden. The afternoon was sinking into a deep purple haze. Mist drifted up from the sea, veiling tree and wall, dripping softly from the eaves of the house, but the sky far above it was warm and smooth.

  She heard the clock ticking. The regular quiet rhythm beat its way into her head.

  How long would it take Macey to drive over there? Please, please, let Luke Murry go before he can arrive, she thought, her eyes closing. God knew what Macey might do. He had looked murderous as he walked out. She had never imagined that Macey could look like that. There was so much in Macey she did not know, for all their years of friendship.

  She paced around the room, tense and anxious, listening to the whispering sea, the ticking clock, the far-off rustle of the trees.

  She kept looking at the clock and listening. Once or twice she stopped beside the phone and looked at it, her hand moving to snatch it up and then falling again. She couldn't ring that house again. There was going to be enough curiosity aroused by Macey's eruption there, even if Luke Murry had gone.

  An hour passed. Macey must have arrived by now. She went into the kitchen and made herself some coffee, drank it black and very strong. Her n
erves were prickling, her hands chill. She held the cup between her cold palms and felt the heat of the liquid invading her skin, but her mind stayed tense and disturbed.

  When at last she heard the sound of the car she stood up, starting as she realised she had been sitting in the dark without even being aware of it.

  She heard Macey's quick step. He halted in the kitchen door, staring at her through the shadows. 'You rang him,' he said flatly. Clare swallowed. 'What happened?' she asked in a shaking, husky voice.

  'He bolted.' Macey switched on the light and she blinked, her face confused. 'Why did you warn him, Clare?' Macey asked, watching her.

  'I didn't want you languishing in a French jail,' she said, trying to laugh.

  Macey's blue eyes narrowed. 'You weren't protecting him?' Her eyes flamed with bitterness. 'I wouldn't lift a finger to save him if he was being trampled to death by elephants,' she said.

  Macey relaxed, his long body leaning against the door frame. 'I drove over to the airport, but there was no sign of him. I guess he made off to Paris.'

  'Was Rowena surprised when you arrived demanding to see him?' Clare watched him anxiously.

  'She wasn't around. I saw Ray.'

  Clare nodded, understanding the laconic way he spoke. 'And she told you I'd rung?'

  Their eyes met. Macey's face was unreadable. 'She told me.'

  Clare looked away. 'I suppose she was curious.'

  'Eaten up with it,' Macey said drily. 'Don't worry, I didn't tell her a thing.'

  Clare felt suddenly deeply weary. 'I think I'll go to bed,' she murmured, her face feeling cold.

  Macey watched her walk away and he didn't say a word. 'Goodnight,' Clare said as she left the kitchen.

  'Goodnight, Clare,' Macey said gently.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clare felt oddly self-conscious as she joined Macey next morning. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, the sleep of the mentally and physically exhausted. This morning she felt nervously alive. The sun was high in the sky and the blue water of the pool danced and glittered as she glanced at it.