Captive in the Millionaire’s Castle

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Well, no, I’m not… But I—’

  ‘Then I suggest we relax for a while and get to know one another.’

  Judging by the expression on her face, Michael thought, she didn’t welcome his suggestion.

  That impression was amply confirmed when she hurried on, ‘I thought you might want to eat straight away so you could work later?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t thinking of doing any work tonight.’

  ‘Oh…’ she said, her lifeline gone and her heart sinking. Then rallying, ‘So what time will you want to start in the morning?’

  He shook his head. ‘I won’t. After the pressures of London life, I usually take a day or two to relax and unwind while I mull over my next plot.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said hollowly.

  If only he would get down to writing in earnest, she thought in helpless frustration. As soon as he had made a start and his book was absorbing all his attention, she would feel a great deal happier.

  ‘And one of the best ways to do that, I find, is to go walking.’

  Well, at least he’d be out.

  ‘Do you like walking?’

  Ambushed by the question, she answered truthfully, ‘Yes.’ Adding, ‘Before I went to live in London I used to walk for miles along the beach—’ Suddenly realizing where her answer might be leading, she broke off abruptly.

  But her anxiety was put at rest when he merely said, ‘Of course, at this time of the year it depends to a great extent on the weather. Rain’s forecast, so if it happens to be heavy it might be expedient to find some other form of relaxation.’

  The prospect of him ending up housebound because of the weather wasn’t one that pleased her.

  His face straight but a hint of amusement in his voice, he observed, ‘You seem positively disappointed at the thought of not starting work straight away.’

  She blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘I—I’ve never worked for a writer before and I can’t wait to see how a book comes to life, and to know I’m playing some small part in its creation.’

  Then grasping at what, hopefully, would be a safe topic, she asked, ‘Do you begin by plotting out the various chapters?’

  Normally he never discussed his writing with anyone, but as they were going to be working together he decided to go along with it.

  ‘No. I usually start with just a bare idea of the storyline. Then I concentrate on the characters, and their relationship to one other.

  ‘Once I have those things clear in my mind, I start to make preliminary notes.

  ‘If it begins to gel, I’m under way. If it doesn’t, I start all over again…’

  She soon found herself fascinated by what had begun as a mere expedient, and listened eagerly.

  Although the conversation wasn’t going along the lines he had planned, responding to what he recognized as a genuine and intelligent interest, Michael answered her questions freely.

  Though she hadn’t stated as much, from the questions she asked it soon became clear that she had read his books.

  More than read them—knew them.

  By the time he paused to suggest that it might be time to eat, Jenny had forgotten both her motive for starting the conversation and her earlier agitation.

  When she was seated, he helped her to a selection of seafood and some of the crisp salad before pouring wine for them both.

  While they ate a leisurely meal he kept the conversation light and impersonal, and she relaxed even more.

  By the time they returned to sit in front of the stove with their coffee, she realized that their first evening alone together was almost over.

  Though she was too conscious of him to be totally comfortable, she had not only survived the day, but in some respects thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Their cups were empty, and she was about to mention that she would like an early night when, out of the blue, he remarked, ‘I find it almost impossible to believe that a beautiful woman like you has no man in her life.’

  When, flustered, she said nothing, he fished, ‘But possibly you haven’t met the right one yet?’

  Uneasy about the direction the conversation was taking, but feeling the need to say something, she admitted, ‘I was once engaged to be married.’

  ‘Oh, when was that?’

  ‘It ended six months ago.’

  ‘May I ask what happened?’

  Endeavouring to hide the feelings that, in spite of all her efforts, were still somewhat painful, she said flatly, ‘I gave him back his ring when, a few weeks before we were due to be married, I found him in bed with another woman.’

  ‘So presumably you don’t believe in…shall we say…openended relationships?’

  ‘I have some friends who do, but that kind of relationship isn’t for me.’

  ‘Even if you really loved the man?’

  ‘Especially if I loved him.’

  ‘And you haven’t met anyone you could fall in love with since your engagement broke up?’

  ‘No,’ she answered.

  Then before Michael could delve any further, she put her cup on the low table and rose to her feet. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day, and last night I didn’t sleep very well…’

  It was the truth. Anxious about the forthcoming interview, she had been unable to settle, and had tossed and turned for a long time before finally falling into an uneasy doze.

  ‘So I’m really tired,’ she added.

  He was about to try and persuade her to stay when, seeing her stifle a yawn and noticing that there were faint blue shadows beneath her eyes, he uncoiled his long length and agreed, ‘Then bed it is.’

  This wasn’t at all what she had planned, and, disconcerted, she blurted, ‘Oh, please… Don’t let me disturb you.’

  ‘You’re not. I was rather looking forward to a reasonably early night, myself.’

  The ground cut neatly from beneath her feet, she had no choice but to let him escort her upstairs, switching out lights as they went.

  At her bedroom door he paused, and, blocking her way, stood looking down at her.

  Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she stammered, ‘Well, g-goodnight.’

  Putting a single finger against her cheek, he said, ‘Goodnight. Sleep well.’

  As, his light touch rooting her to the spot, she gazed up at him like a mesmerized rabbit, he bent towards her.

  The conviction that he was about to kiss her again galvanized her into action, and, flinching away, she brushed past him and fled into her room, followed by the sound of his soft laughter.

  Once inside, her heart racing, her breath coming fast, she leaned weakly against the door panels. A moment later she heard his light footsteps move away, and then the door of his room close.

  Angry with herself, and even angrier with him when she recalled that mocking laughter, she wished fervently that, rather than panicking and running away, she had kept her head.

  She should have stood her ground and made it plain that she had simply come here to do a job and wasn’t in the market for a bit of light dalliance. Instead she had acted like a silly, immature schoolgirl.

  But then that was the effect Michael Denver had had on her from the start.

  She groaned inwardly. However was she going to face him in the morning?

  But even as she quailed at the prospect, she realized that something about the little scene that had just taken place didn’t quite add up.

  Michael was a skilful, sophisticated man, not an inexperienced youth liable to dither, and there had been ample opportunity, not only for him to kiss her, but to start a big seduction scene if he’d really wanted to.

  So why, instead of just getting on with it, had he telegraphed his intention?

  Had he wanted to see her reaction?

  Or had the whole thing been just a charade, a deliberate attempt to fluster her?

  Oh, come on! Common sense stuck in its oar. Why should he want to fluster her?

  Wasn’t she, once again, letting her imagination
run away with her? Wasn’t it much more likely that she had been totally mistaken? That he hadn’t intended to kiss her at all?

  If she had misinterpreted what had been just an innocent movement on his part, and bolted, no wonder he had laughed.

  She groaned again. It was a toss up which of the scenarios was worst, she thought as she picked up her nightie before heading for the bathroom to clean her teeth and prepare for bed.

  Perhaps, in the morning, after making such a fool of herself, it might be better to tell him that she had had second thoughts and wanted to leave?

  But did she really want to leave Slinterwood?

  The answer had to be no.

  Though the strange rapport she felt with the house made her extremely reluctant to leave it, she was forced to admit that the overriding reason for wanting to stay was Michael Denver himself.

  Being in his company wasn’t altogether comfortable, but it gave her a buzz, sharpened her perceptions, and made all her senses diamond-bright.

  Love was supposed to have the same effect, she mused as she stepped out of the shower and began to dry herself. But though she had thought herself in love with Andy, he had never made her feel so aware, so alive.

  Perhaps she had been turned on by the thought of working for a writer of Michael’s calibre?

  She had certainly wanted the job, but what she hadn’t bargained for was her unprecedented reaction to the man himself.

  Though surely she could keep that under control? she thought as she pulled on her nightdress.

  Admittedly she had made a poor job of it so far, but the first day was over, and from now on things should get easier. All she needed to do was keep cool and not let him fluster her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JENNY awoke next morning to find it was almost nine o’clock. After lying awake for several hours the previous night unable to stop thinking about what a fool she’d made of herself, she had overslept.

  It was just as well Michael didn’t want to start work immediately. Jumping out of bed, she drew aside the curtains and looked out of the window at the lovely, peaceful scene spread before her.

  The sea resembled a slightly wrinkled sheet of silver paper with a lacy edging of filigree where the waves washed gently up the pale sand.

  For as far as she could see in either direction the beach was deserted, the only sign of life a grey cormorant standing on one of the rocky outcrops, spreading out its wings to dry.

  Despite the fact that rain had been forecast, the sun was shining and the sky was a clear baby-blue.

  With a bit of luck, she thought, Michael Denver might take himself off for a long walk.

  But even if he did, she would have to face him first, and, remembering his mocking laughter, she found it was a daunting prospect.

  What was she to say to him? How could she excuse her stupid behaviour?

  The answer was, she couldn’t.

  However, knowing it was no use putting off the evil moment, she went purposefully into the bathroom to clean her teeth and shower.

  Having dressed for the day in tailored fawn trousers, a donkey-brown blouse and flat-heeled pumps, she coiled her hair, applied a little make-up and sallied downstairs before her courage failed her.

  She found him in the kitchen breaking eggs into a pan. An appetizing smell of coffee and grilling bacon filled the air.

  ‘Good morning.’ His tone was measured, his manner practical, down-to-earth. There was no sign of the mockery or derision she had half expected.

  Even so, she was unable to meet his eyes as she responded with a polite, ‘Good morning.’

  Noting that evasion, and guessing the cause, he smiled inwardly.

  Last night, at her bedroom door, he had been very tempted to kiss her again, but then, reminding himself of all the problems such a move could cause, he had drawn back.

  That hesitation had given her the chance to step in and show her true colours, but instead of reacting seductively her response had been to bolt like a startled rabbit.

  Which could mean one of two things. Either she was as innocent and naive as she appeared, or she was playing some deep game.

  Abandoning the puzzle for the time being, he asked, ‘Sleep well?’

  She picked up the slightest hint of amusement in the question—as if he already knew the answer—but, choosing to ignore it, she lied, ‘Yes, very well, thank you.’

  ‘If you’d like to sit down and pour the coffee, breakfast is almost ready.’

  As she obeyed he queried, ‘How do you like your eggs? Sunny side up? Or asleep?’

  ‘Asleep, please.’

  ‘Same here.’ Expertly flicking fat over the yokes, he added, ‘But then I was already sure that our two hearts beat as one.’

  Her hand shook a little and some of the coffee she was pouring spilt into the saucer.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered.

  Hiding a smile, he turned away to dish up the crispy bacon and perfectly cooked eggs.

  They ate without speaking, and only when Michael removed their empty plates to stack in the dishwasher did she find her voice and say, ‘Thank you. That was very nice.’

  ‘Toast and marmalade?’ he offered.

  ‘No, thanks, I’ve had quite enough.’

  Resuming his seat, he refilled their coffee cups and observed, ‘The rain seems to be holding off, so I think a good long walk is indicated.’

  Unsure whether or not he was including her, and reluctant to say anything in case he hadn’t been and she put the idea into his head, she made no comment.

  A moment later he settled the matter by saying, ‘It might be a good idea to bring your notebook and pencil just in case I need any notes taking.’

  Then, catching sight of the expression on her face, ‘You did say you liked walking?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you have no objection to accompanying me?’

  Unable to think of a convincing reason to back out, after a moment or two she answered, ‘No.’

  If he noticed her brief hesitation, he gave no sign. ‘Then I’ll pack a spot of lunch while you get your outdoor things. It’s much colder than it looks, so wrap up well.’

  Up in her room, she pulled on a pair of sturdy shoes, found a sweater to wear beneath her coat, and a woolly hat to pull down over her ears. She did enjoy walking, and at least being out in the open air and on the move would be preferable to staying cooped up indoors with him. And it would give her a chance to see something of her island.

  When she descended the stairs she found he was waiting in the hall, also dressed for walking, and with a rucksack on his back.

  Running an eye over her sensible shoes and clothing, he nodded, before asking, ‘Any preference as to which direction?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll leave it to you.’

  ‘You mentioned that when you lived at Kelsay you used to enjoy walking along the beach…’

  Surprised that he’d remembered, she said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I suggest we follow the coastal path down as far as Gull Point, before striking inland and taking a shorter route back.’

  ‘That sounds fine,’ she agreed.

  Grinning, he said a shade sardonically, ‘Heaven be praised, an amenable woman!’

  ‘Quite a lot of us are.’

  ‘Not in my experience.’

  ‘Then you’ve obviously been associating with the wrong kind of women.’

  The teasing retort was out before she could prevent it, and, wondering what on earth had made her blurt out something that sounded so rude and insensitive, she bent her head and waited for the storm that was bound to come.

  But all he said was, ‘You may well be right.’

  * * *

  In spite of feeling she had got off to a bad start, Jenny found the walk both pleasant and invigorating. The heavens were cloudless, the scenery picturesque, and the salty tang of the sea air a long-missed and well-remembered pleasure.

  Breathing in the cold air was like drinking sparkling ch
ampagne, and the light had that clear, diamond-edged sharpness that only winter days brought.

  For the first hour or so they walked in silence, keeping up an easy pace that covered the miles seemingly without effort.

  During that time, Michael had been trying to think up some interesting characters to people the plot that had begun to unfold in his mind. But more often than not his attention, rather than focusing on his book, had wandered to the woman by his side.

  Though Jenny appeared to be quiet and reserved, she was far from dull, and she certainly didn’t lack spirit. Yet when, after that first impulsive kiss, he had expected some display of coldness or anger, she had appeared dazed, quiescent.

  Which failed to add up.

  As did her pre-knowledge of Slinterwood.

  Though even if they were both imponderables at the moment, there were bound to be answers…

  But there he was, doing it again!

  For the umpteenth time, he lassoed his straying thoughts, and, annoyed by his inability to concentrate, told himself irritably that he should never have engaged a PA. Particularly a female one, and, more especially, a female who intrigued and distracted him.

  Unconsciously taking out his displeasure on her, he quickened his pace.

  After half a mile or so, it became plain that she was having a struggle to keep up with him, but not a single word of complaint passed her lips.

  Feeling like a heel, he slowed down and suggested, ‘Shall we have ten minutes’ rest and a cup of coffee?’

  Sounding a little breathless, she said, ‘A cup of coffee would be lovely.’

  He led the way to a nearby outcrop of flattish rock, and, taking a Thermos from the rucksack, filled two cups and handed her one.

  As they drank she asked, ‘Any idea about the storyline yet?’

  ‘The beginning of one,’ he admitted grudgingly.

  ‘What about the characters?’

  He shook his head, his dissatisfaction with himself plain.

  ‘I was wondering…’

  Though he asked, ‘What were you wondering?’ his tone didn’t sound as if he would welcome suggestions.