Seductive Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

  Their quarrel had attracted the attention of the nurse in charge of the ward. She came over to the bed, eyed David with a professional blankness, then looked reprovingly at Prue.

  'I think perhaps you had better go now. Mr Henley is still under sedation, and he really ought to get some more rest.'

  'I'm not that crook. Nurse!' David said, at once resisting any suggestion that he might be ill.

  'I don't think you're the best judge of that, Mr Henley!' the nurse merely said, her lips thinning.

  David made a face at Prue, who got up, under the nurse's disapproving eyes; feeling gawky and sheepish, as she usually had when she was a teenager, all long legs and untidy red hair, confronted by hostile, critical adults.

  David's mouth had a weary droop. Prue bent to kiss it, but he turned his head away at the last moment, and she kissed his cheek, knowing he had moved deliberately, he was still cross with her.

  'I'm sorry,' she whispered, close to his ear. 'I won't ring your parents, don't be cross, darling. Love you.'

  The waiting nurse coughed meaningfully; one neat black shoe tapping as she consulted the watch pinned to her apron.

  'Come tomorrow,' David said, relenting enough to smile, so Prue turned and walked away down the ward:-She paused at the swing doors to blow him a kiss, but he was leaning back against his pillows, his eyes closed, the flush still high on his cheeks. Feeling very guilty, Prue walked back through the hospital to the car park, to wait for Josh Killane and his sister, whom she had noticed still sitting beside the old man's bed. Prue hadn't actually looked in their direction, she had merely observed them out of the corner of her eye. They didn't seem to be talking; she didn't hear voices from the bed and the old man appeared to be sleeping, so she imagined it would not be long before they joined her.

  The car was locked, so she walked around the gardens adjoining the car park. Autumn winds had strewn the wet grass with leaves; bronze, russet, and gold, a few spectral, like grey lace stretched over a fan of fine bones, all colour bleached out of them by the rain. Prue walked through them, enjoying their rustle, kicking them up and watching them fly.

  She was thinking about David as she walked, worried by his unusual mood. The accident had been a bad shock; he had lost blood, a lot of it, he had had an operation, he had broken ribs and a head injury—she should have realised how much all that would have affected him, but she had been stupid. She had been insensitive with him, arid she could kick herself. Why on earth did you argue with him? she asked herself fiercely.

  She shouldn't have been surprised by David's reaction to the idea of his parents being told about the accident. He loved his parents, of course, and she knew how much they loved him. When they heard the news, they would have flown over here, and they would have wanted David to go back to Australia with them.

  He was right about something else! His father would undoubtedly have guessed that the accident was David's fault He would be right, too, wouldn't he? David had been driving carelessly; it was pure luck that neither of them had been killed. Well, luck and the quick-wittedness of Josh Killane. He could so easily have smashed straight into their car, but he had veered away without crashing.

  David hadn't reacted fast enough; he had driven their car into that wall.

  This wasn't the first accident foe had had, either, as his father would have reminded him. He had soaped a wing here, dented a bumper there, but none of his other accidents had been serious or even very expensive on the garage bills. All the same, his father would have a few things to say about this crash—and David hated being criticised or blamed. He was a sunny character, but only so long as things went well; he liked to skate over life's surface, having fun and enjoying himself, laid-back and casual, a little lazy, and reluctant to accept responsibility even for himself. He wanted to live in the sun—he ran from bad weather.

  David's idea of a marvellous life was to laze on the beach all day; a little swim or a ride on the surf, then a little barbecue with their mates, some partying and a few tubes of Fosters and maybe steep in a hammock on the terrace in the warm night air. Prue had always thought it sounded a good life, too.

  She and David had had the odd argument in the past but, like his other accidents, their arguments had never- been serious or meant anything, and she wished she hadn't argued with him today. He wasn't himself, she should have left the subject until he was really better.

  The grate of feet on gravel made her turn her head.

  Josh was walking towards her, dark hair windblown, lean body moving gracefully in the old tweed jacket and grey flannel trousers.

  He was alone, and she looked past him towards the car, but there was no sign of Lynsey in it.

  'That was a short visit,' he said drily, and she flushed, at once ready to take umbrage.

  'David isn't very well yet—the ward sister thought I shouldn't stay long.'

  'Why are you so defensive?'

  'I'm not!' She wasn't defensive, she was irritated. He was commenting on her private life again. Why couldn't he mind his own business?

  'Where's your sister?' she asked, to change the subject rather than because she cared.

  'Visiting your fiancé,' he drawled, and Prue stared at him. 'She noticed you hadn't brought him any flowers, so she went to the hospital shop and bought him some.'

  He seemed to find it amusing; Prue didn't. 'How thoughtful of her,'

  she said through her teeth. His sister had some of his interfering tendencies, did she? Prue hadn't forgotten to buy David flowers; it simply hadn't occurred to her to take him any. Back home he would have felt a fool if she was seen giving him a bunch of flowers. His mates would have teased him about it. Prue wondered what he had said when an unknown girl came up to him, gave him a bouquet and chatted him up.

  Of course, Lynsey was very young and beautiful. David would have been flattered by her attention; it might have put him back into his usual cheerful, easy-going temper.

  'You resent it,' Josh thought aloud, watching her.

  'No, I'm grateful to her,' Prue said.

  'Hmm,' he said, unconvinced, then eyed her thoughtfully. 'I rather got the idea you were having a row with him. Anything wrong?'

  He was too observant, thought Prue, fighting to look blank. 'Nothing is wrong,' she insisted.

  'Hmm,' he said again, maddeningly.

  Lynsey came sauntering out of the hospital entrance just then. She joined them, tilting her chin defiantly at Prue.

  'I told her you had taken her fiancé some flowers,' Josh said.

  'I hope you didn't mind,' Lynsey said in an offhand voice which clearly conveyed that she didn't care whether Prue minded or not.

  'It was very kind of you, thank you,' said Prue. 'He isn't too well yet, and I'm sure your flowers cheered him up.'

  'He seemed to like them,' Lynsey said, sliding her slender body into the back seat of the car, and managing to imply that Prue should have thought of taking David flowers, which so annoyed Prue that before she knew what was happening she found herself in the front seat next to Josh.

  As they drove off, Lynsey leaned forward and said to her brother,

  'Drop me off at the village, will you? I want to call in on an old pal.'

  'Who?' he asked, driving steadily, his eyes on the road.

  'Don't be nosy, Josh!' Lynsey snapped.

  Prue eyed him blandly out of the comer of her eye; Josh sensed as much and turned his head to look at her, his mouth hard. ,

  'Why can't you say who you're meeting?' he still insisted to Lynsey.

  'Oh, Caroline, if you absolutely must know!'

  'Why all the secrecy about meeting Caroline?' he demanded, and Prue watched Lynsey in the wing mirror, wondering if it was really this Caroline she was meeting, or if she had rapidly invented that story to placate her brother?

  'Why do I always have to tell you everything I'm doing?' Lynsey muttered.

  He made an impatient face. 'Oh, well! Don't be late back, then!'

  'Nag, nag, nag.'

&n
bsp; 'You know Mother will start worrying if you're out for hours, and we don't know where you are!'

  A heavy sigh was all the answer he got, and he drove in silence for ten minutes. When they entered the village at the heart of the valley, Lynsey said quickly, 'Drop me at the post office, would you? I promised David I'd buy him a postcard of the village.'

  Prue gave her a startled look. David? Lynsey used his name pretty casually, considering they had only met for the first time today, and just for five minutes too! Had he really asked Lynsey to buy him a postcard? Or had she offered to? Lynsey ignored her, seemingly unaware of her frowning scrutiny.

  Josh stopped the car and Lynsey got out, slamming the door behind her. As they drove on, Prue glanced back and saw Lynsey going into the post office. The Killanes were an interfering family! What did Lynsey think she was doing, chatting David up, taking him flowers, buying things for him? Prue felt guilty because she should have thought of asking David if he needed anything instead of quarrelling with him over his parents, and guilt made her angry with Lynsey for having the cheek to do what Prue should have done.

  'Is your sister in training to be a social worker?' she asked Josh coldly.

  'Miaow;' he said, grinning, but she decided to ignore that.

  'When exactly does she go back to her college?'

  'Oh, soon, don't worry.' He seemed to find all this very amusing; Prue didn't.

  'I am not worrying,' she said with dignity, and he laughed, which somewhat spoiled the effect.

  'Oh, no?'

  'No!' she insisted.

  'Sure you aren't jealous because she's taking an interest in your fiancé?'

  'She's just a kid,' Prue dismissed. 'Does she often get crushes on people? I know some teenagers do.'

  'Would you call her a teenager?'

  'She's eighteen, what else could you call her?'

  He turned in through the gates of the farm, considering that question.

  'Well, I'd have said Lynsey was a young woman—she's legally of age and could get married, drive a car or fight for her country, so I don't think I'd call her a teenager.' He pulled up outside the house and turned in his seat to face Prue, his face quizzical. 'Take no notice of her. She's romantic by nature. Your fiancé's not bad-looking, he's lying helpless in a hospital bed and he's far away from has home and family—that makes him irresistible to a girl like my sister! '

  Prue listened and watched him, for view of him breaking up and reforming in a dizzying fashion. Sometimes she wished she had a gun to shoot him with, yet sometimes, as now, he was gentle and thoughtful and kind. The Killlanes were a puzzling faintly; an enigma.

  He gave her a crooked little smile, one eyebrow slanting upwards.

  'What's on your mind now?'

  'Sorry?' She started, looking into his jet-black eyes and seeing little golden flecks around the pupil which she had never noticed before—had they been there? or was it the reflection of the autumn sun she was seeing?

  'You were staring at me in an odd way,' he said softly, looking deep into her green eyes, his face very close.

  'I was thinking,' she said in some confusion, feeling hot colour wash upwards to her hairline.

  'Your eyes are the brightest green I've ever seen,' murmured, a hand lazily reaching out to touch her flushed cheek.

  She jumped back from that contact, looking away.

  'Thanks for the lift, I'd better find my father,' she muttered, grabbing for the door handle and opening the car.

  Josh didn't argue; he swung round in his own seat and got out, too, facing her across the top of the car. 'You won't find him in the house.

  He'll have left the key under a flowerpot on the kitchen window-sill, though, so you can get in easily enough. I'll show you.'

  'Where has Dad gone?' she asked, frowning as she hurried to keep up with his stride.

  'He's up on Windacre Hill, mending walls.'

  'Oh, of course, I'd forgotten! Stupid of me, I don't know how I came to forget that.'

  Josh gave her a wry look. 'Something else on your mind?' The softly murmured words had an insinuating quality which made Prue uneasy.

  They reached the back of the house, and Josh picked up a flowerpot on the window-sill and retrieved the key lying there.

  'Thank you,' Prue said stiffly, reaching for it, but he was already at the back door, fitting the key into the lock. 'I can manage now,' she insisted, but he took no notice, pushing the door open and waving her into the house. She didn't quite like to slam the door in his face, so he followed her inside, closing the outer door behind him, and Prue's nerves leapt violently.

  'Well, thank you,' she said, not wishing to be rude to him when he had taken so much trouble to be helpful, yet rather edgy about being alone with him again in the empty house. Whenever they were alone together, she felt this strange sensation: a mixture of heat and rage she didn't understand. She could not reason herself out of it; the chemical reaction was explosive, she felt it happening inside her now, an energy which built up until the pressure of it had terrible force. She had never known anything like it before and it disturbed her.

  'He won't be back until it's dark,' Josh said coolly, totally unaware of what she felt, thank heavens.

  That's OK, it doesn't matter, I'll be all right,' she muttered, avoiding his much too observant eyes.

  'Why not come home with me and have tea with my mother?'

  She shook her head. 'Thank you, but...'

  'She'd be very glad to see you!'

  'I really must do some washing and ironing,' Prue said, a chilliness creeping into her voice at the very mention of Mrs Killane.

  He watched her, a black frown drawing his brows together. 'What have you got against my mother?'

  The attack was abrupt and unexpected, and her eyes lifted, wide and startled.

  'Wh-why . . . what makes you think I. . .'

  'Your face changes every time she's mentioned. Do you think you can hide dislike? You can't, you know—not if it's strong enough, and you really don't like my mother, do you?'

  Prue was as pale now as she had been flushed. 'No, I don't—and I'm sure you know why!' she snapped.

  'You tell me,' he said quietly, the lines of his face taut and angular.

  'Don't pretend you don't know all about it! You're not stupid, and if a stranger like me can see it so clearly, then you must have noticed it years ago!'

  'What are we talking about? What can you see so clearly?'

  She took a fierce breath, trembling with anger. 'Your mother—and my father!'

  'Ah,' he said, his eyes black ice.

  'I know about them! My mother told me the whole story, and when I saw them together, after I got here, I knew she had told me the truth, and you must know all about it, too. You couldn't be that blind!'

  He stood there, looming above her, staring down in piercing scrutiny as if he looked right through her eyes into her very mind, and did not like what he saw. He might know the truth about his mother's long love-affair with James Allardyce, but he did not like to have it talked about. He preferred to shut his eyes to it, no doubt, as his father must have done for years. But perhaps his father hadn't known? As a child, she had often seen the Killanes together, and there had been a warm, affectionate feeling between them, which had particularly struck her because it was so different from the way things were between her own parents.

  She had been too young then to know anything of the more intimate side of love; she wouldn't have recognised physical attraction if she had seen it, she had no idea what sort of love there had been between Josh's parents, but she did know one thing—they had cared for each other, they had been happy together, so perhaps Henry Killane had never guessed what was going on between his wife and James Allardyce?

  Josh suddenly swung round and picked up the kettle, filling it from the tap.

  'What are you doing?' Prue asked, taken aback.

  'Making some tea.' He put the kettle on the stove without looking at her, and she scowled at him.

/>   'I'd rather you left now, please!'

  'I have a few things I want to say to you, first,' he bit out. 'And I need a cup of strong tea before I say them.' He found big, yellow, earthenware mugs hanging on a line of hooks, opened the fridge and found milk, dug out some teaspoons, while Prue watched him, seething.

  'I like the way you make yourself at home in my father's house!'

  Josh ignored her, spooning tea into the teapot.

  'I suppose just because your family own the land you think you own all the people who work on it, too!' she threw angrily at him.

  He spun round, then, blazing with fury; she got the feeling he was going to hit her and stumbled backwards, which made him bare his teeth in a mimicry of a smile.

  'Yes, I ought to slap you! You can think yourself lucky I have more self-control than you do, or I would! Now, just shut up while I finish making this tea.'

  'Don't you shout at me!' Her brief flash of fear over, Prue was in a belligerent mood again, but so was Josh.

  'Sit down!' he bellowed, and something about the way he looked at her made Prue obey. He made the tea and stirred the pot, then she watched him pour the tea. What did he have to say to her? she wondered, scowling. Or could she guess!

  'I suppose you'd like me to pretend not to know about their affair?' she broke out as he turned, a mug in each hand. 'Well, don't worry, I won't say anything—I haven't mentioned it to my father and I wouldn't have said anything to you if you hadn't made me!'

  'You don't have to say anything! You have other ways of getting your point across!' He handed her a mug in a very ungracious fashion, shoving it into her hands so that she almost dropped it. 'I don't like the way you watch my mother, or the look in your eyes every time you see her look at your father.'

  'Sorry!' she snapped. 'I have my reasons—but I don't expect you to understand! It wasn't you and your mother who were driven away from home—it was me and mine! If I' m bitter, it's because I had to live with an embittered woman for years. All she talked about was what your mother had done to her. God forgive me, at times I was so sick of listening that I started blaming her! I thought she was a neurotic who'd invented it all. But she hadn't made it up, had she? It was all true.'