Seductive Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Oh, dear,' Prue said.

  inadequate,' said josh, and then he laughed; laughed loudly before he started driving on while Prue sat beside him, quivering with rage.

  As she got out of the car Mrs Killane appeared on the steps, her face concerned. 'Josh found you—good! We were worried when Jim told us that you should have got here long ago! Did you get lost?'

  'I'm sorry,' Prue stiffly said, joining her. 'I was just wandering along in a daydream.' She pretended not to feel the cold stab of Josh's eyes.

  'You have such beautiful views,' she added rather defiantly, and Mrs Killane gave her a brilliant smile, nodding.

  'Haven't we? I've often got lost in a daydream, looking at the hills.'

  She swept Prue into the house, talking about her favourite local beauty spots, then smiled at her a little shyly, 'I'm so glad you could come,' she said. 'Lynsey is out, and Josh has to go into town to buy something so it will just be you and me. I hope you won't be bored.'

  Deeply relieved to find that Josh wasn't going to be present, Prue said,

  'Of course not!' following Mrs Killane into a sunny room.

  'How's your fiancé?' Mrs Killane asked, gesturing to her to sit down in one of the deep, comfortable armchairs on either side of a low table which was already laid for tea with thin sandwiches, scones and small home-made cakes.

  'Much better, thank you. I'm hoping he will be out of hospital in a week.' Prue was finding it easier to talk to Lucy Killane than she had expected; partly because they were alone and she didn't have to keep remembering the reason why she should dislike her. Josh's absence oddly made it easier, too. Whenever he was around, Prue found herself charged with angry energy, but now she felt peaceful and at ease.

  'Oh, that is good,' said Lucy Killane. 'Such a pity, to have an accident when you're on holiday, and having come all that way! It must have been very expensive for you, this trip.'

  'We came economy,' Prue admitted. 'Neither of us had much money.'

  David had some savings, and she was using some of the money she had inherited from her mother; it had seemed a fitting way to spend it, discovering her roots and mending fences with her father.

  Mrs Killane sat down and talked for several minutes about holidays, then got up, saying, 'I'll make the tea now, excuse me for a moment.'

  While she was out of the room, Prue wandered around, looking out of the window at a rose garden where the wind rustled last, defiant blooms; they had a melancholy look and Prue sighed, turning back to the room arid went to inspect a bookcase full of well-read books. It was always fascinating to see what other people read, and she soon realised the books did not belong to Josh. There were some cookery books, gardening books, but most were novels. Prue recognised many of her own favourite authors: childhood classics like Alice or The Wind in the Willows, mingling with more adult writers like Jane Austen, the Brontes, Georgette Heyer, Angela Thirkell, Jilly Cooper.

  Mrs Killane came back with a tray on which were arranged a teapot, covered with a hand-knitted teacosy, a sugar bowl and matching jug in flower- sprigged bone china, cups from the same set and a tea-strainer over a small matching bowl.

  Prue quickly turned, a book in her hand, making- an apologetic face.

  'I'm sorry, I couldn't resist.. .'

  'Not at all!' Mrs Killane said eagerly. 'I'm just the same, if I see books in someone's house I can't help taking a peek. It's as good as a character reference, isn't it? You know so much about someone from what they read.' She poured the tea and Prue sat down again, accepting a cup of tea and one of the tiny, wafer-thin sandwiches filled with a crisp medley of salad chopped up very small.

  'Did you make these?' she asked, taking a homemade scone next and refusing any of the thick, whipped cream, although she took home-made strawberry jam..

  'Made from our own strawberries,' Mrs Killane told her, and said,

  'Yes, I love to cook.'

  'I saw you had quite a few cookery books.' Prue smiled. 'And that you like romantic novels?'

  Do you?'

  'Love them!' Prue said. 'Which do you prefer— Jane Eyre or

  Wuthering Heights?'

  'Oh, heavens! What a question,' Mrs Killane said, leaning back to think it over. 'Well . . .' she began, while Prue took a bite of the slice of chocolate swiss roll that had just been placed on her plate.

  They talked quite freely after that; keeping on neutral subjects which offered no danger zones. Books were the easiest—they were each happiest talking about their favourites, and it excluded all mention of either, James Allardyce or Josh.

  He walked into the room an hour later, and they both turned laughing countenances towards him. Prue stopped laughing when she saw Josh, but his mother beamed.

  'You're back, then! Did you get the tools you wanted?'

  'Some of them,' he said, his dark eyes glinting on Prue's cooling expression.

  Prue hated the smooth voice, the edge of derision it carried. She looked at her watch and got up hurriedly.

  'I must be going. Thank you for tea, Mrs Killane...'

  'Call me Lucy, Prue, and thank you for making my afternoon so pleasant. We must talk about our favourite authors again soon.'

  'I'll run you back,' Josh said in the hall, but Prue shook her head firmly.

  'I'd rather walk, thanks. I need the exercise. See you again, Mrs . . .

  Lucy!'

  Mrs Killane looked anxiously at the sky. 'It's almost dark, and it looks like rain.'

  'I'll drive her,' Josh said, but Prue began to walk off down the drive, bristling at the way he talked about her as if she was a child or a half-wit. But then, that was how he saw women—half-witted children who needed his feudal mix of bullying and protection. She had seen the way he ordered his sister around, and he had tried the same approach with her any number of times now. Prue wasn't having it.

  'Oh, suit yourself!' he snapped, his engine roaring as he shot past. She watched his tail-lights disappear in the gloom and felt stupid. It was a long walk back to the farm, and it might have been more sensible to accept a lift, but she just couldn't face the prospect of being alone with him again. Last time, she had promised herself it would never happen again; she was avoiding him in future. She was going to keep that promise.

  Thank God she and David would soon be on their way. She would miss her father badly, she loved the farm and the valley and the stark, breathtaking landscape she saw each morning from her bedroom window. But she had to get away from Josh Killane.

  She had been walking for ten minutes when the rain started; little drops at first, then a torrential downpour which rapidly reduced her to a sodden rag—her red hair darkened, flattened against her skin like a skull cap, her clothes soon saturated and her shoes began to let water in at every seam.

  There was nowhere to take shelter; she had to trudge on, her head down into the wind and rain, praying now that Josh would turn round and come back for her. He must know that she was almost drowning, fighting with a wind blowing right into her face and trying to blow her back to Killane House—surely he would come to her rescue?

  She grimaced, staring into the rain-slashed night- Why should he?

  She had refused a lift offhandedly, said she wanted to walk—why should he come back for her?

  When the headlights cut through the darkness, she gave a sigh of relief and slowed, looking into the car.

  It wasn't Josh; it was someone else, a stranger, thickset and slightly balding. 'Bad night to be out walking,' he said in a strong Yorkshire accent. 'Want a lift?'

  Prue hesitated, trying to sum him up from his face. 'Thank you,' she said uncertainly. He looked OK, and anyway she was wet and exhausted after the battle with the weather.

  She got into the passenger seat and he drove on, asking, 'Where shall I drop you?'

  She told him and he gave her a quick look. 'Oh, you're Jim Allardyce's girl, are you? I heard you were home. Bet they don't have storms like this in Australia.'

  She laughed. Australian weather could be
far worse; in fact, but she knew better than to say so. She was relieved that he knew her father; at least she hadn't been picked up by a stranger. She asked him his name and where he lived, and by the time he had finished telling her they were at the end of her father's drive, and a car was turning our and blocking the entrance.

  'Probably Jim out looking for you,' said the other man, but Prue took one glance and knew it wasn't. The driver realised it too, a second later. 'No, it's Josh Killane,' he said, and then Josh leapt out of his car and came round to pull open the door beside Prue.

  'I was just coming to get you,' he said, then threw a brusque nod to the driver. 'Thanks, Bob. Good of you to stop.'

  'Thank you very much,' Prue said to the driver, smiling at him.

  That's OK,' he said, and she got out. Josh slammed the door behind her, grabbed her by the waist with peremptory force and rushed her across to his own car. She found herself being crammed into it roughly, and then the door closed and Josh came round and dived in beside her.

  The other car drove off but Josh did not start his engine; he turned to glare at her, temper making his face tight.

  'Have you met him before?'

  'No,' she said. 'Can we go? I'm dripping all over your upholstery.'

  'You got into a total stranger's car and let him drive off with you?'

  'I was getting wet, and I still am wet, very wet. I'd like to go home and change into some dry clothes, please.' She added the 'please' as an afterthought, reluctantly, because the way he was looking at her and breathing hard was making her nervous, and she felt it might be wiser to placate him a little.

  'You refused my offer of a lift, then got into a stranger's car?'

  'Are you having trouble understanding the obvious?' Prue asked aggressively, since placation had not worked.

  'You're the most stupid, the most irritating female I've ever met!' he snarled, and Prue decided she did not like being called that, so she snarled back.

  'Don't you yell at me! People keep telling me about this mythical being they call a blunt Yorkshire man; I suppose you're it? Well, I've had about enough of your insults and personal remarks; so either drive me home right away or I'm getting out again. I'd rather swim home that sit here while you pull me to pieces.'

  'I'm tempted to let you walk, too!'

  Prue reached for the door-handle, although she dreaded the idea of going back out into that rain.'

  'But I left you to walk back earlier,' he bit out. 'And found myself coming back to look for you, so this time I'll make sure you get home.'

  Josh started the car so fast that she was thrown sideways to collide with him. Her nerve-ends were jittery as she sat up again, avoiding his angry stare. Josh drove to the farmhouse at high speed. He braked just as suddenly and swung round to face Prue, his eyes fierce and very black.

  'Don't!' she whispered, shaking helplessly. She had never been so afraid in her life. Josh sat there, staring into her face, then he turned away, put both hands on the steering wheel, his whole body stiff with tension.

  Prue got out of the car and ran away as if pursued by a deadly enemy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  OVER the next week, time seemed to drag. The hire car had been repaired and she had that back, so she was able to drive herself to the hospital each day to see David, but for the rest of each day she had very little to do. She tried to keep busy, going out with her father if he was working near the house, to watch him and give a hand with whatever he was doing; or, if it wasn't possible for her to go with him, she worked indoors, cooking or preserving some of the luscious autumn fruits she found around the farm—blackberries and sloes and crab apples in the hedgerows; and, in the orchard, apples and pears.

  She did not see Josh all week, but Lucy Killane came over to see her one day, bringing grapes grown on an indoor vine at Killane House.

  They were a little sharp but had quite a palatable flavour. Lucy Killane said she made wine with them most years. The vine had been growing in the hothouse for years; it had been planted by her husband when they were first married.

  Prue was able to see her father's unguarded face when Lucy first appeared; his eyes lit up and his mouth curved in a tenderness that made her absolutely certain that he loved Lucy. She watched Lucy talking to him, but wasn't quite so sure about how she felt—fondness, yes, that was there, but was there more than that?

  'Has your daughter gone back to college?' she asked, and Lucy sighed, shaking her head.

  'Not yet. She can be very difficult.'

  Prue could believe that! She hadn't seen much of Lynsey, but she had a shrewd idea that the other girl had a strong will and something of her brother's tenacity.

  'Is she still quarrelling with Josh?' asked James Allardyce, and Lucy gave him a wry smile.

  'Afraid so!'

  'Josh should be more understanding!' Prue's father said, and Prue laughed.

  'And pigs should fly!'

  Lucy gave her an astounded glance, and her father looked shocked.

  'Prue!'

  'I'm sorry, but it's true . . . expecting Josh to be understanding is as realistic as asking a pig to fly. He doesn't understand women and he never will.'

  'Don't you think so?' Josh's mother said, staring at her with a thoughtful expression.

  'Well, I don't expect you to agree with me, you are his mother, after all,' Prue said defiantly. 'But it doesn't surprise me that he tries to push his sister around, or that she quarrels with him all the time. If I were her, so would I!'

  'You quarrel with Josh a lot?' his mother asked, and Prue went a little pink, her green eyes restlessly moving away from Lucy Killane's curious gaze.

  'If he tries to ridge roughshod over me, yes! Maybe it's because I grew up in another country, with different rules and attitudes—but I won't put up with a man giving me orders.'

  'Oh, dear,' Lucy said, smiling. 'I can see Josh has rubbed you up the wrong way.'

  When she had gone, James Allardyce said to Prue rather huskily, 'I'm so glad you and Lucy are getting on better now. 1 was sure you would like her when you got to know her.'

  Prue smiled, sympathy in her eyes. She was sure now that her father loved Lucy Killane, and almost sure that Lucy did not feel quite the same way about him. Her affection was sisterly, Prue suspected. She was fond of him, but had never been in love. My mother was wrong, Prue thought; well, half wrong, anyway! But would that have been any comfort to her mother, since it was true that James Allardyce did love the other woman?

  'I like Lucy very much,' she said gently, and her father glowed with pleasure.

  'Good.' He gave her a faintly mischievous look. 'And maybe one day you'll start to like Josh, too!'

  Prue stopped smiling and glowered; green eyes glittering in her flushed face. 'That is never going to happen!'

  David was due to leave the hospital very soon. The following day, Prue stayed within earshot of the telephone in case she was given the word to come and collect him. His specialist was visiting him that morning, and the ward sister had told Prue that he might decide that David was fit enough to go home, so Prue had packed a case with clothes for David, and taken it into the hospital the previous day. If he was given the go-ahead, he could be dressed and waiting by the time Prue arrived to pick him up.

  James Allardyce was working in the field nearest the house that morning. If the call came, all she had to do was yell to her father then hurry and then drive to the hospital to pick David up.

  She was feeling oddly edgy as she waited for the phone to ring. On the one hand, she couldn't wait for David to rejoin her; she was aching to get on with their holiday, and then with their life together. She had loved him for a long time, nothing could ever change that.

  On the other hand, though, she would miss her father terribly; she loved the farm and the landscape she saw each morning when she got up; and she was rather nervous about going away with David. It would be crazy to say he seemed like a stranger; but something had happened to them both since the crash. His weeks
in hospital had separated them somehow. David had lived through an experience she hadn't shared, and at the same time she had been reliving the childhood he hadn't known, rediscovering her father, realising she belonged here, after all. She had found out a lot about herself in the process, too.

  She had seen David every day, of course—but she had increasingly felt like a stranger; they had talked in a cheerful way, but so politely, a distance between them, some barrier she didn't understand. Prue frowned, telling herself fiercely that when they were together again, and far away from here, they would get back together again. They still loved each other just the way they always had! She couldn't imagine marrying anyone but David—why, their friends had always said that theirs was a marriage made in heaven, fated!

  Prue made herself some coffee and stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Betty Cain had whisked around the house and left; everything was tidy and she had nothing to do but wait.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was washing up her coffee-cup and spoon in an obsessive need to do something to pass the time when Josh walked into the kitchen from the garden, wearing well-washed old blue jeans which fitted him like a glove, and a skin-tight black ribbed sweater over an old grey shirt.

  Prue looked over her shoulder, with a stifled little gasp, her eyes restlessly skating over his lean figure, surprised by a faintly dishevelled look about him. He was usually so well groomed: hair smoothly brushed, nails immaculate, clothes exactly right for whatever occasion he was attending. Today, she sensed that he was in too much of a temper to bother how he looked—he was probably a hazard to anyone who was foolish enough to cross his path, too, but he was here, and short of running away there was no way she could avoid him, so she nodded warily instead.

  Josh nodded to her, his brows black as night, his eyes blacker.

  'Dad's in Lark Meadow, if you want him,' she said in a hurry, hoping he would go in search of her father.

  'I came to see you.' His tone was uncompromising and she wondered nervously what was wrong. Had his mother repeated what she'd said about him? Oh, good grief! Prue inwardly groaned—I hope not! She could have sworn that Lucy Killane wouldn't do that.