Читать книгу Dark Castle - Anne Mather - Страница 8

THE outboard motor started at the first attempt and soon they were moving away from the jetty, bouncing across the wind-choppy water to where a dark mound could just be seen rising out of the loch. As they drew nearer, Julie could distinguish the twin towers of a small castle that stood in the middle of the island, and the thick belt of firs that surrounded it. It stood on a rise, and the ground fell away sharply in places towards a shoreline fringed with jagged rocks like giant’s teeth. Julie wondered how on earth anyone could land here, but Jonas circled the island until he came to a shingled stretch, perhaps six feet wide, where he could beach the boat. He stepped out into the water in his boots and dragged the craft up the shingle before offering Julie his hand again to climb out.

The high heels of her boots sank into the small stones as Jonas lifted her cases out of the boat and then drew a torch from his pocket and handed it to her.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘You may need this. I know my way. Just follow me.’

They crossed the stretch of shingle and began to mount steps cut out of the rock. Julie was glad of the light of the torch because the steps were uneven in places and her boots were not meant for climbing. She realized she was out of condition, too, as she began to pant while Jonas strode ahead without any apparent sign of fatigue.

At last the steps gave on to a rough stone walk and looking back she saw that they were high above the rocky shoreline now. Ahead she could see the stone towers she had glimpsed earlier guarding an inner courtyard that was surrounded on three sides by the fortified walls of the castle. A dog barking somewhere at the back of the building was a reassuring sound, as were the lights at some of the narrow windows, but Julie still glanced rather apprehensively at her host.

Jonas stopped at the foot of some steps leading up to an iron-studded door set in one of the turreted towers. Julie followed him slowly as he mounted the steps, gradually regaining her breath after the climb, and entered the panelled hall of the tower. It was almost round, of course, with a passage leading off to the left, and a spiral staircase winding away out of sight. The lighting came from gas lamps which cast a mellow glow over the dark wood. The staircase was stone, as Julie knew the walls to be beneath their panelling, but a soft brown and cream carpet added warmth and colour.

She was still admiring her surroundings when a small dark woman came hurrying along the corridor towards them. ‘So you’re back then, Mr. Hunter.’ The woman’s voice was pleasantly accented, with the same brogue as old Angus had used. ‘And this would be Mrs. Hunter, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Jonas had put Julie’s cases down and now turned to her with enigmatic coolness. ‘Julie, this is Mrs. Macpherson. She and her husband, Rob, have lived and worked here at Castle Lochcraig for over twenty years.’

Julie was still getting over the shock of being introduced as Mrs. Hunter. For years she had thought of herself as plain Julie Preston, the name she had always used professionally. That was why she had been so astounded that Mark should have discovered her relationship with Jonas. She had never discussed that period of her life with anyone, not after they had split up, and when Angela had introduced her to Mark it had been as Julie Preston.

But here, apparently, Jonas had explained that she was his estranged wife, and with no small feeling of embarrassment, she shook hands with Mrs. Macpherson and hoped she looked less confused than she felt.

‘Your hands are frozen, Mrs. Hunter,’ exclaimed the housekeeper, looking reprovingly at Jonas. ‘I’m sure you must be tired after your journey. If you’ll away with me, I’ll show you to your room and you’ll have a few minutes to warm yourself and freshen up before I serve dinner.’

Julie forced a smile. ‘That would be lovely, Mrs. Macpherson,’ she agreed, looking down at her suitcase. ‘Shall I bring this?’

‘Rob will see to your case, Julie,’ said Jonas quietly, divesting himself of his duffel coat, revealing a navy silk shirt beneath. The dark colours accentuated the tan of his skin, heightened no doubt by the years he had spent in South America. The shirt was open at the throat and Julie could see the silver medallion suspended from its slender chain which she had given him for his birthday five years ago. The sight disconcerted her. She would have expected him to have got rid of it long ago. She was almost glad when Mrs. Macpherson touched her arm and said:

‘Come along, Mrs. Hunter. It’s this way.’

All the same, as they mounted the spiral staircase with the narrow windows let in at intervals, Julie couldn’t rid herself of the remembrance of that silver medallion or the memories it so painfully evoked. Memories of Jonas in the first year of their marriage, relaxed and laughing, on that holiday they had spent in Barbados. She had bought him the medallion there and it conjured up memories of Jonas trying to teach her to sail, to go snorkelling and skin-diving – of him asleep beside her early in the morning, when the silver medallion had been his only adornment …

Her cheeks flamed and she was glad that Mrs. Macpherson was ahead of her and could not see. She must be mad, allowing such thoughts to invade her head simply because she had happened to see again a cheap piece of jewellery she had purchased in a Bridgetown market. She had to remember that at least one other woman had seen Jonas in that lazily intimate state, and that Jonas himself had been responsible for the destruction of their marriage.

The staircase opened on to a landing with a gallery leading off before continuing on its way, but Mrs. Macpherson indicated that Julie should follow her along the carpeted gallery. The gallery followed the outer wall of the main part of the building and Julie couldn’t help noticing how much thicker the stonework was on one side than the other. No doubt in daylight the view from the windows on the outer side would be quite magnificent, but tonight, with the gaslights flickering disconcertingly, it had an eerie atmosphere.

Mrs. Macpherson glanced round. ‘All the bedrooms and guest rooms open off the gallery, Mrs. Hunter,’ she explained. ‘And directly below us is the main hall and dining area, and the reception rooms. Mr. Hunter’s private rooms are in the tower where you entered. He doesn’t bother much with the formal apartments, although perhaps he will now that you’re here.’ She smiled encouragingly.

Julie’s face felt stiff. What on earth did Mrs. Macpherson mean? Surely it was obvious from the small amount of luggage that she had brought with her that she was not here on a prolonged visit. Hadn’t Jonas discussed the length of her stay with his housekeeper? She didn’t know how to answer her, so she merely managed a smile and said nothing.

They had passed several heavy doors set into the stonework before Mrs. Macpherson stopped and opened one of them and went inside, beckoning Julie to follow her. The gas lamps here had been turned down, but the housekeeper quickly turned them up and smiled in satisfaction when she saw Julie’s obvious admiration of the huge bedroom which they had entered.

From the minute she entered the castle, Julie had realized that some sort of central heating system was in operation, and along the gallery she had noticed huge pipes and an old-fashioned radiator which had definitely taken the chill from the air. But the bedroom was really warm, heated by an enormous log fire burning in an equally enormous grate. There was an immense tester bed, the hanging canopy of which, although faded, bore the unmistakable imprint of years of intricate tapestry work; there were two massive wardrobes and a tallboy full of drawers, a dressing table with five folding mirrors that could throw back one’s reflection from every possible angle, and two wingbacked armchairs set at either side of the hearth. The silk-hung walls were unadorned, and overhead the ceiling had been panelled and carved. Julie shook her head helplessly. She had never seen such a bedroom outside of a stately home. But, she supposed wryly, that was exactly what Castle Lochcraig was.

‘It’s very nice, Mrs. Macpherson. Thank you,’ she said.

Mrs. Macpherson waved her thanks away. ‘It’s good to see the rooms used again,’ she protested. ‘Mrs. Drummond always slept in this room.’

Julie would have liked to have asked who Mrs. Drummond was, but she thought that perhaps it was something she ought to know, and she decided to ask Jonas rather than question the housekeeper.

‘You’ve a bathroom through here,’ went on Mrs. Macpherson, opening an inner door. ‘See – it’s quite modern.’

Julie peered into the shadowy bathroom. The bath was huge, like everything else here, and the massive, throne-like water closet filled her with amusment. It was good to feel a lightening of her spirits after the day it had been.

‘You’ll be able to find your way downstairs again, Mrs. Hunter?’ The housekeeper paused by the door.

‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ Julie nodded, glancing at her watch. ‘What time have I got?’

‘Will twenty minutes be enough for you?’

‘I should think it would.’ Julie smiled. ‘And thank you again. I’m sure I shall be very comfortable here.’

Mrs. Macpherson nodded. ‘If you’re not, I’ve no doubt Mr. Hunter will soon let me know,’ she commented dryly.

The housekeeper’s words aroused just the faintest sense of apprehension, but Julie dismissed the feeling impatiently. Left alone, she was free to explore her domain, but first she would take off her boots and allow her feet to sink into the soft cream carpet underfoot, and warm herself by the fire.

After a wash, she examined her appearance critically. She had shed her sheepskin coat to reveal a plain tweed suit and high-necked white blouse. She had had to put her boots on again as her shoes were in the case downstairs. Her hair needed little attention, the few strands which had escaped from the chignon soon tucked back into place. She applied a light foundation cream to her skin, added a little eye-shadow, and was satisfied with the result. The wind had added a little colour to her cheeks, but it was not unattractive. She sighed. It would be a simple matter to change her image – to loosen her hair and add lustre to her lips, but she restrained the impulse.

With a few minutes to spare she wandered round the room, examining the carvings that were an integral part of the furniture. The drawer handles on the tallboy were shaped like lion’s heads and one inserted one’s fingers into the open jaws to draw them out …

She stood back in surprise. She had opened a drawer, almost without being aware of doing so, and now she stared at its contents. It was filled with filmy lingerie, pants and bras and slips in a variety of shades, fragile chiffon garments and pure silk that clung to her fingers.

She closed the drawer with a jerk and turned away, unaccountably disturbed. Whose garments were they? What were they doing here in this bedroom that Mrs. Macpherson had implied had been long unused? Or had she said that? She had said that the formal apartments downstairs were seldom used, but that didn’t mean that no one had used this bedroom. On the contrary, she had said that Mrs. Drummond had always slept here. But somehow Julie knew that the Mrs. Drummond who had always slept here was not the person to wear such extravagant underwear.

Her brows drew together. The articles she had seen were not old. Whose ever they were they had been put there only recently. Had Jonas had some woman staying with him? The idea was distasteful to her. And yet why should it be so? She and Jonas were separated. What he did was his own affair. And if he chose to take some woman as his mistress, it was nothing to do with her.

Even so, there was an awful curling sensation in the pit of her stomach when she considered him sharing this bed with another woman. If he had, she would rather not sleep in it.

She looked towards the embroidered quilt that covered its enormous width. The bed could have comfortably accommodated half a dozen people, she thought with aversion. Oh, why had she opened that drawer? Like Pandora, she had released something totally unexpected.

She picked up her handbag and walked towards the door, but then she remembered she had not turned down the lamps. She went back to do so and as she passed one of the wardrobes her reflection mocked her. Curiosity was like a cancer inside her and without hesitation she reached out a hand and opened the wardrobe door. Inside were hanging perhaps a score of dresses, both long and short, suits and slack suits, skirts and trousers.

She stared at them in amazement. Surely no woman would go away and leave so many clothes behind her! So what did it mean? That some other woman was still staying at the castle? That she had given up her room to Julie? It didn’t make sense.

She turned down the lamps, closed the wardrobe door, and left the bedroom walking swiftly along the shadowy gallery to the spiral staircase. Before going down she looked upward, seeing the spiral disappear towards some upper section of the building. Were there other floors? And if so, did anyone occupy them?

She shook her head. She was becoming fanciful. The sooner she went downstairs and stopped speculating about things that did not concern her, the better it would be.

When she reached the lower hall she looked round. Now she could see that the reason the hall was not completely circular was that two doors had been set into the panelling and beyond them no doubt lay Jonas’s private rooms, the rooms Mrs. Macpherson had mentioned.

She was hesitating about which door to open, when a voice behind her said quietly: ‘Did you find the accommodation to your liking?’

She swung round to find that Jonas had come along the passage without her being aware of it and was standing supporting himself with one hand against the arched stonework of the aperture. He had clearly washed, too, and combed his hair which now lay smoothly against his head, flicking over the collar of his shirt at the back. He had also added a maroon velvet waistcoat which went well with his dark attire.

Mentally squaring her shoulders, she replied: ‘Everything seems very comfortable, thank you.’

Jonas’s mouth turned down at the corners and straightening he passed her to open one of the doors she had been hesitating over.

‘Won’t you go in?’ he invited, standing aside for her to do so. ‘This is my sitting-room. I spend most of my free time in here. The room next door is my study. We can have a drink before Mrs. Macpherson arrives with our meal. I’ve told her we’ll eat in here this evening.’

Julie entered another strikingly attractive room. It was a curious shape, having three straight walls and one curved one, but its decoration more than made up for its lack of design. A soft apricot and olive green carpet flowed into every corner, no doubt to allay the chill of stone floors, long velvet curtains in matching shades covered the narrow windows, while soft cream leather armchairs and a well-worn cream and green tapestry-covered couch looked superbly comfortable. A small display case contained some exquisite Wedgwood pottery, while the shelves that flanked the fireplace were filled with books and magazines. Another log fire burned cheerfully in the grate and the flames winked on the collection of bottles and decanters which stood on the open flap of a cocktail cabinet. It was an elegant room, and yet it had a relaxing, lived-in sort of atmosphere, and as it was much smaller than the bedroom upstairs it was also less imposing.

Jonas closed the door and nodded towards the chairs and the couch. ‘Sit down,’ he suggested, walking towards the cocktail cabinet. ‘What can I offer you to drink? Sherry? A Martini? Or do you still like Pernod?’

‘I’ll have a dry Martini, if I may,’ she replied, sitting down in one of the soft leather armchairs. Pernod, like the medallion, had too many associations with the past.

Jonas shrugged and turned to pour her drink, pouring himself a generous measure of Scotch as he did so. Then he handed the glass to her and came to sit near her on the tapestry couch, stretching out his long legs towards the fire. He swallowed half his Scotch without any effort, and then looked sideways at her.

‘So,’ he said, ‘and how are you?’

Julie stiffened. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

His eyes assessed her critically, moving over the severely styled hair, the tweed suit, to the slender legs concealed in the suede boots. ‘You’re thinner. Don’t you eat enough – or not often enough?’

Julie endeavoured to return his gaze coolly. She determined not to let him disconcert her again. ‘I don’t think my eating habits are any concern of yours,’ she retorted.

Jonas’s eyes were disturbingly intent. ‘I thought we had agreed to call a truce,’ he commented mildly.

Julie sighed. ‘All right. I’m fine. I eat as much as I need. As far as I know I’m perfectly healthy. Does that answer your question?’

Jonas raised dark eyebrows. ‘You’re becoming shrewish, Julie. It doesn’t suit you.’

Julie looked down at the glass in her hands. She was trembling, in spite of all her good intentions. ‘Jonas – I didn’t want to come here, to take this interview. It was all Mark’s idea—’

‘Mark Bernstein?’

‘Yes.’ She looked up. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I know – of him.’ Jonas felt in his pocket and drew out a case of cheroots. Putting one between his teeth, he said: ‘You don’t smoke, do you? I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything but these.’

Julie shook her head and watched unobtrusively as he reached for a taper and lit his cheroot from the fire. He inhaled with evident enjoyment, and then went on: ‘If you didn’t want to come here – why did you?’

Julie sipped her Martini. ‘You know why.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Jonas shook his head. ‘Oh, I admit, I insisted that it was you who interviewed me for the magazine, but you could have refused.’

‘Mark would never have forgiven me.’

‘And that’s important to you?’ His eyes narrowed.

‘To my career – yes.’

‘Ah, I see. Your career.’ He swallowed the remainder of his Scotch and rose to pour himself another. ‘And is Berstein also responsible for your appearance?’

Julie stared at his broad back indignantly. ‘What do you mean?’

He turned, his eyes assessing her again. ‘The way you wear your hair – that suit! You used to have excellent dress sense.’

Julie felt herself colouring. ‘My appearance is no more important than my size!’

‘I disagree.’ He leaned back lazily against the cabinet. ‘I think you dressed that way to annoy me. I wonder why.’

‘To annoy you!’ Julie could hear her voice becoming shriller, but there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

As it happened, there was a knock at the door then and at Jonas’s summons Mrs. Macpherson entered the room wheeling a heated food trolley. She seemed to have noticed nothing amiss, and Julie reflected that the thick walls and heavy doors no doubt cut off all but the most piercing sounds.

‘There you are, sir,’ she said, spreading a cloth over a side table and drawing it forward. She turned to Julie. ‘Shall I serve the meal, Mrs. Hunter, or will you?’

Julie shifted awkwardly in her seat. ‘I – er – I can manage, thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. It – it smells delicious.’

‘Och, it’s only a beef stew with dumplings and vegetables, and there’s a syrup pudding to follow,’ declaimed the housekeeper with a smile, but it was obvious that she was pleased. ‘I’ll bring your coffee along later.’

‘Thank you, Mrs. Macpherson.’ Jonas accompanied her to the door and then closed it behind her.

Meanwhile, Julie was examining the various contents of the heated dishes. The meal smelt even better when she removed a steel lid to reveal a steaming dish of beef stew with tiny dumplings bobbing about its surface.

With a wry smile, Jonas seated himself opposite her, watching her, and forcing a composure she was far from feeling, she said: ‘Shall I serve yours?’

‘Sure. Why not?’ He inclined his head. ‘I like most things, you know that. I had to when we first got married, if you remember.’

Julie did remember, but she refused to rise to the bait and ladled some vegetables on to a plate and covered them with the savoury stew. Then she passed the plate across to him and served her own. She gave herself only a very small quantity of everything and was aware that Jonas had noticed. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he got up and brought a bottle of wine from the lower compartment of the cocktail cabinet and poured two glasses.

Although Julie had not expected to enjoy the food, she did, and the wine was a pleasing accompaniment. Eating at least curtailed conversation, but she was aware of Jonas’s eyes upon her from time to time.

The syrup pudding was as light as any she had tasted, and there was a jug of fresh cream to pour over it. Jonas, she saw, ate with obvious enjoyment, but his lean muscular frame seemed not to be showing any ill effects from Mrs. Macpherson’s generous helpings.

Julie finished first and gathered the dirty plates together and put them on the lower shelf of the trolley. Jonas finished his second helping of syrup pudding and lay back, replete, swallowing the dregs of the wine in his glass.

‘That’s better,’ he remarked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘A few weeks of Mrs. Macpherson’s cooking and you’d soon fill out.’

‘I have no desire to fill out, thank you,’ returned Julie, pushing the trolley aside. ‘I was never a filled-out person!’

‘No – but you were nicely rounded,’ replied Jonas unabashed.

Julie sighed and glanced pointedly at her watch. She was amazed to discover it was half past nine already. ‘Er – do you think Mrs. Macpherson will be long with the coffee?’ she asked. ‘I really am rather tired. I didn’t sleep much on the train last night, and I could do with an early night.’

‘An early night?’ Jonas lit himself another cheroot. ‘You disappoint me, Julie. I was looking forward to some after-dinner conversation.’

Julie drew a deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t have thought you were short of after-dinner conversation, Jonas,’ she said sharply.

Jonas frowned. ‘No? Why not? Have you no pity for a – lonely man?’

‘A lonely man?’ Her eyes were drawn to his. ‘Oh, come on, Jonas, that’s taking things a little too far, don’t you think?’

He considered her mockingly. ‘Do I denote a trace of maliciousness in your tones?’

‘No. No, why should there be?’ Julie hunched her shoulders, half regretting her outburst.

‘That’s what I’m asking myself.’

She sighed. ‘Oh, let’s stop all this verbal fencing!’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’

Julie hesitated. ‘All right. I – I opened a drawer. In the bedroom. I saw some – clothes.’

‘Ah! I begin to comprehend.’ Jonas inhaled deeply.

Julie stared at him, waiting for him to explain. But he merely nodded to himself and lay there, lazily blowing smoke rings into the air. She felt angry and frustrated, the more so because she guessed he would know how she was feeling, how eaten up with curiosity she was. But he was not about to satisfy her.

Her hands clenched. Cool down, she told herself furiously. What did it matter? She didn’t care whose clothes they were. This time tomorrow she would be long gone, and she hoped she never had to set eyes on him again. She would see her solicitor when she got back to town. A divorce shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange, not after all this time, and then she would be free – really free.

Another knock heralded the return of Mrs. Macpherson, this time carrying a tray on which reposed a jug of coffee, cream, sugar, and two cups.

‘Now – did you enjoy your dinner?’ she inquired anxiously.

Julie forced an enthusiastic note to her voice. ‘Very much, Mrs. Macpherson. That syrup sponge was out of this world! You must give me the recipe before I leave.’

‘Before you leave, Mrs. Hunter? But you’ve only just got here—’

‘Mrs. Hunter means when we return to London,’ put in Jonas smoothly, levering himself off the couch and confronting Julie’s indignant stare. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. We shan’t need you any more tonight.’

‘No, sir.’ Mrs. Macpherson moved slowly towards the door, propelling the trolley before her. ‘Oh, by the way, Rob’s taken up Mrs. Hunter’s cases. I hope you’ll be comfortable—’

‘I’m sure you’ve done everything to ensure that,’ interposed Jonas patiently, although it was obvious he was eager to have the housekeeper outside the door. ‘Good night, Mrs. Macpherson.’

‘Good night, sir. Good night, Mrs. Hunter.’

‘Good night.’ Julie spoke automatically, but as soon as the door was closed she sprang to her feet, and said: ‘Exactly what did you mean by that?’

Jonas was calm again, leaning back against the door with indolent grace. ‘By what? What did I say?’

‘Oh, stop it, Jonas, you know what you said. Look, I don’t know what you’ve told these people – or why you couldn’t have introduced me as – as a reporter from Peridot and nothing more! But the fact remains that Mrs. Macpherson imagines we’re a normal married couple and that I’m here on some sort of holiday!’

‘Don’t get so heated about it.’ Jonas drew lazily on his cheroot. ‘You want an explanation? All right, I’ll give you one. My grandmother knew I was married. Naturally Rob and Jennie Macpherson knew I was married. Around here, marriage means something.’

Julie shook her head confusedly. ‘Your grandmother?’

‘Laura Drummond. I inherited Castle Lochcraig from her.’

‘Mrs. Drummond! Oh! I see.’

‘I gather Mrs. Macpherson has mentioned her to you.’

‘Well, yes. She – she said that I’m sleeping in her bedroom.’

‘That’s right. You are. My grandparents always slept in the master bedroom. In the old days, things were done in style. It was my grandfather who had the gallery built on the upper floor. Until then, all the rooms led out of one another, which was rather awkward if one had visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘My grandfather did quite a lot of modernization one way and another, installing bathrooms and plumbing, central heating …’

It explained why the inner wall of the gallery was not as thick as the outer wall, but it didn’t really answer her question.

‘The Macphersons have never met me,’ she protested.

‘No. But they did see the wedding photographs. You remember there were photographs. Rather good ones, if I remember correctly.’

‘But – but your grandmother wasn’t at the wedding.’

‘No,’ he said again. ‘She was very old when she died. Too fragile to travel all the way to London just for the wedding of her grandson.’

‘But you never mentioned that she lived in a Scottish castle. That you expected to inherit.’ Julie was still groping to find some reasonable motive in all of this.

‘Would it have made any difference if I had?’ he queried levelly, and her nails dug indignantly into her palms.

‘Of course not. You know what I mean.’

‘Umm.’ He straightened, flexing his back muscles. ‘Well, I didn’t expect to inherit. The castle has always passed to the eldest heir. My mother, who incidently didn’t get on with her mother – my grandmother was a rather autocratic old lady and didn’t approve of my father at all – had a brother, my Uncle Stuart. He was expected to inherit. Unfortunately, Stuart never married, and he was killed eighteen months ago in an air disaster in Switzerland.’

‘I see.’ Julie tried to absorb this. ‘Was that when you came back to England?’

‘No.’ He moved away from the door and as this movement brought him nearer to her, Julie bumped down rather jerkily into her chair again. ‘I came back about a year ago. I lived in London for a time, working on my novel, and then when my grandmother died I came here.’

‘You – were – in London?’ Julie made a helpless little gesture. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Why should you?’ His eyes challenged hers. ‘I was the last person you wanted to see, wasn’t I?’

Julie looked down at her hands, regretting her momentary lapse. But she had always had the feeling that if ever Jonas returned to live in London she would know about it, sooner or later.

‘I still don’t understand why, if it was going to create so many difficulties, you insisted that I came here.’

‘Did I say it created difficulties?’

‘No, but—’ Julie moved her shoulders indifferently. ‘So – if I accept your reasons for revealing my identity, unnecessary though they seem, what do you intend telling Mrs. Macpherson when I leave tomorrow?’

Jonas walked to the hearth and stood with his back to the fire, feet apart, the cheroot between his teeth. For a few moments he seemed to be considering what she had said, staring broodingly towards the heavy oak door. Then the dark eyes were turned on her.

‘Let’s face that when we come to it, shall we?’ he suggested evenly.

Julie pressed her lips together. She didn’t altogether trust him or his motives. She could imagine her mother’s and Angela’s horror if they could somehow see her now. In their estimation there would be absolutely no excuse for her being there. And even Julie herself had found no good reason for Jonas’s insistence of her taking this interview. Not to mention the disturbing question of those clothes …

Her head was beginning to ache from so much confused thinking. With a sigh, she got to her feet again.

‘Would you have any objections if I went to bed now?’

Jonas threw the end of his cheroot into the fire. ‘But you haven’t had your coffee,’ he pointed out.

Julie looked down at the exquisitely arranged tray. Mrs. Macpherson had obviously taken a great deal of trouble with it, but she could not stand any more of this ambiguous conversation. She needed to be alone for a while, to absorb what had been said, to try and make some sense of it all.

‘I really don’t think I want any coffee, thank you,’ she replied tautly. ‘I know my way to my room. So – so I’ll say – good night.’

‘Good night, Julie.’

Jonas inclined his head enigmatically and she moved towards the door. For a moment she was tempted to reveal her feelings, to confront him with her fears and suspicions, to see how he would react. But then reason prevailed. Unless she included the summons that had brought her here, he had done nothing to arouse her antagonism. Since her arrival, he had been unfailingly polite, and the accommodation he had provided for her was more than adequate.

Why then did she continually suppose there had to be some ulterior design behind it all? Had her own traitorous reactions to him in some way coloured her reasoning? She had known it would not be easy before she came here. Jonas had been, and would always be, a disturbingly attractive man, and it was natural that she, who had once been his wife in every sense of the word, should still experience a certain amount of awareness of his physical attractions. She could have refused to come, she admitted that now. But she had wanted to prove to herself that anything she had felt for him really was dead, and not just numbed by the shock of his guilt at the time of his betrayal.

She opened the door and looked back at him. He was standing staring into the fire and for a moment was unaware of her scrutiny. There was a curiously vulnerable twist to his lips as he stood there, and something inside her contracted painfully.

With a jerky movement she put herself outside the door and closed it behind her, closing her eyes for a heart-stopping moment. No, she told herself vehemently, no! Jonas knew every trick in the book, and she would not be fooled again.