Читать книгу A Marrying Man? - Lindsay Armstrong, Lindsay Armstrong - Страница 7

THERE was a moment’s silence. Then a voice said, ‘No. It’s William Brady.’ And the lamp flicked on, waking her completely and plunging her back into the incredible events that had overtaken her.

She said, ‘Oh.’ And simply lay there while William Brady put a cup of tea on her bedside table.

He straightened and their eyes met. ‘Who’s David?’

‘No one—’

‘You mean he’s not the reason you gave Neil the old heave-ho?’ he queried sardonically.

Georgia flicked her hair back and sat up. ‘He is not,’ she said crisply. ‘Neither is he any of your damn business, Mr Brady, and if you don’t want to have to drag me kicking and screaming all the way to Sydney you’d be wise not to say another word on the subject!’

William Brady inspected the luxurious disorder of her hair, the pale, perfect skin of her face, her elegant neck as it disappeared into a fun, hot-pink cotton nightshirt with big white daisies all over it, the imperious set of her mouth and her rather aristocratic nose, and said neutrally, ‘Sugar?’

But Georgia subjected him to a scathing scrutiny of her own—the blue shadows on his jaw, the rather weary lines of his face and the way his thick brown hair fell in his eyes—before she said regally, ‘One.’

He smiled slightly and spooned the sugar into her cup. ‘There you go—stay there; I’ll bring you breakfast.’

Georgia regarded his retreating back with utter disdain for a moment then collapsed back onto her pillows with a bemused sigh.

What could you do with a man who insulted you and threatened you, who planned to hijack you, but who brought you breakfast in bed, who, in an oddly laid-back but very adult way, showed his contempt for you but still aroused your curiosity? And made you wonder what he meant by ‘less flamboyant and a bit more tractable’—did he really like meek and mild little mice of girls?

She sat up again, shaking her head as if to clear it, and reached for her tea. Five minutes later he reappeared and presented her with perfectly cooked scrambled eggs on toast on a tray. ‘Thank you,’ she said this time, but with irony, and started to eat.

He sat down on the side of the bed, causing her to raise an eyebrow at him and say, ‘Well? What now, Mr Shakespeare?’

‘We have a slight complication.’

‘Don’t tell me—you’ve decided to believe me?’

‘No—’

‘Then you’ve reconsidered and decided that apart from the sheer impropriety of kidnapping a complete stranger against her will—’

‘It’s not like that,’ he broke in.

‘Oh, yes, it is, but I said I’d come and come I will, so—what?’

‘I rang to check our reservations earlier but the flight has been cancelled, as have all others, on account of a wildcat air traffic controllers’ strike. They don’t expect to be able to resume normal operations until this afternoon—and that might be an optimistic prediction. What I plan is to give them a couple of hours’ grace and then start to drive down.’

‘Drive down!’

‘It’s only a fourteen-hour drive. We could share it but we’d have to take your car.’

‘Look, it’s your brother—’

‘Georgia,’ he said quietly but dangerously, ‘bear with me, please. I thought it might even help you out a bit—to have a couple of extra hours to organise yourself in.’

Georgia stared at him, set her lips, then said, ‘How is he?’

‘The same.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were half-brothers right from the start?’

He shrugged and watched her dissect a piece of toast with her knife and fork, then lifted his eyes to hers. ‘It’s a long story, but I guess I thought it might adversely influence your decision if you thought you were also up against family disapproval. His family’s.’

‘Influence my decision?’ she marvelled. ‘You’ve blackmailed me, threatened me, insulted me—the only thing you haven’t done is allow me to make any sort of decision for myself!’

‘You told me a moment ago that you’d said you’d come and you’d come—’

‘Oh, look, go away, will you?’ Georgia commanded exasperatedly. ‘And take the tray with you. I want to get up.’

He stood up and picked up the tray, saying politely, ‘Very well, ma’am.’ But she knew he was laughing at her.

‘And close the door this time,’ she added through her teeth.

‘With pleasure.’

‘I’m going down to organise things with my staff, Mr Shakespeare. Do you want to come? It might give you a better understanding of how well run this spelling farm is and lessen the impression you have that I am a rich, lazy layabout who has had everything handed to her on a platter.’

Georgia stood before him, showered, dressed in jeans and a navy blue sweater, with her hair tied back neatly and her eyes challenging.

‘Yes, I would—if you wouldn’t mind me having a shower and a shave first.’

‘Oh, do make yourself at home,’ she said with irony. ‘Would you like to borrow one of my razors? They’re pink, unfortunately, but they work.’

‘Thank you very much, Georgia,’ he said gravely, ‘but I did bring my own.’ He indicated a small, battered grip.

Georgia tossed her hair. ‘Come down when you’re ready, then, Will!’

Her ‘staff’ was in fact quite an overstatement, although she was in no mood to acknowledge this. It was she herself who did most of the work involved in caring for the maximum of ten horses she was able to agist in neatly fenced paddocks while they were resting from their racing careers.

The work amounted mainly to feeding them carefully prepared formulas, watching over them as they luxuriated in the freedom of a paddock rather than a stable, and rugging them as the weather dictated. All the same, to do it as conscientiously as she did it was no mean task and she did have one part-time staffer.

Brenda was the daughter of her neighbours, a horsemad though surprisingly mature seventeen-year-old who was able to combine her love of horses with the earning of some pocket money by helping Georgia out. It was an ideal arrangement since she lived only a paddock away, and, moreover, on the odd occasions when she was left solely in charge she could call upon her father, an ex-jockey, for help if needed.

It was while Georgia was waiting for Brenda to arrive, and as she was making out some lists for her, that she stopped to think irritably, What do I care if he thinks I’m a spoiled little rich girl? Why should I care what this perfect stranger thinks of me?

Yet for some reason, she acknowledged, this perfect stranger had somehow contrived to get under her skin. How old was he? she wondered, and decided thirty something. And then she wondered why she should have accused him of being a ‘dry stick’ yet be unwittingly intrigued by him as a man…As a man? she pondered, and turned at a sound behind her to be confronted by the object of her somewhat mystified musings. It didn’t help her state of mind to feel a tinge of colour warm her cheeks.

‘Well, Will,’ she said tartly, ‘what do you think?’

William Brady walked over to the window of her small office and contemplated the view through it. It was pleasantly green and rural and populated by ten alert-looking specimens of the equine world in their paddocks, awaiting their breakfasts. ‘I’m impressed, Georgia,’ he murmured. ‘Do you have any horses of your own?’

‘Two hacks,’ she said. ‘I still like to ride and I give a weekly class at the local pony club. Otherwise all my energy goes into looking after other people’s horses. Do you ride, Mr Brady?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you ride well?’ She put her lists in a pile and moved round the desk into the adjoining feed-room, where she started energetically to move buckets and feed bins around.

‘Well enough, although not nearly so well as you, I’m sure. Allow me,’ he added, and helped her to line up some more bins.

‘Thanks,’ Georgia said briefly, and pushed her sleeves up as she started to mix the feeds. She looked up once to see him watching her with a wry little smile playing about his lips. ‘What’s amusing you now, Will?’ she asked sardonically. ‘Or rather, it’s obvious I am, but in what particular way this time?’

‘I was thinking,’ he said slowly, ‘that you seem to have an enormous amount of energy, Georgia. It actually seems to leap out of you like an electric current—and that alone must be a problem for you sometimes. I mean how to channel it.’

‘Ah!’ Georgia straightened, winced and pushed a fist into the small of her back. ‘So you think I might not be such a rich, lazy layabout after all,’ she marvelled, and grimaced. ‘Don’t expect me to roll on my back and wave my legs in the air, though, will you, Will?’

‘It’d be the last thing I’d expect,’ he said gravely. ‘Have you hurt your back?’

‘No.’

‘It rather looked like it.’

‘Forget about my back,’ she said imperiously, and pushed past him to reach for something on a shelf.

‘Well, could I be of some assistance?’ he asked courteously.

‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘You need to know what you’re doing.’

‘I see. When do your staff arrive?’

‘She should be here any minute.’

‘She?’

‘Yes, she,’ Georgia said, then sighed irritably. ‘I only have the one, if you must know.’

‘You’re in a very prickly mood, even for you, Georgia,’ he observed, and she swung on him at close range, opened her mouth to demolish him but suddenly thought better of it as their gazes locked and held.

There was something strangely disturbing about being that close to William Brady, she discovered. Something in his hazel eyes that was both mocking yet amused, something in their proximity that made her feel curiously flustered and hot.

She swallowed, turned away and said crossly, ‘I don’t enjoy tripping over people when I’m working.’

‘My apologies.’

Georgia threw her head back haughtily and was oddly relieved to hear Brenda arriving—although that, unfortunately, was something that would later give her further cause for ire.

She introduced them briefly then asked Brenda to do the horses’ water-bins and to take Mr Brady with her to give her a hand. William Brady went compliantly, and with a perfectly sober face, but she knew he was laughing at her inwardly.

Half an hour later Brenda came back on her own with the news that he’d gone upstairs to make a phone call, and said breathlessly, ‘Georgie—who is he?’

Georgia compressed her lips. ‘Someone sent to try the life out of me,’ she answered coldly. ‘Why?’

‘I think he’s gorgeous!’ Brenda confided.

Georgia’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Gorgeous!’

‘Oh, yes! I mean, he’s not exactly handsome but he’s so interesting-looking, and he’s nice and he’s so tall and he…just gives me goosebumps.’

‘Brenda…’ Georgia had to laugh because of the look of ecstasy on Brenda’s face, but she said, although not unkindly, ‘He’s probably old enough to be your father!’

‘I don’t think so, but, anyway, I like older men,’ Brenda pronounced. ‘So…isn’t he a friend?’

‘He’s certainly not, and you probably won’t set eyes on him again—so don’t dream too much,’ Georgia replied with a mixture of irritation and amusement but with a slight softening of her tone because she was very fond of Brenda. ‘OK,’ she went on, in a more businesslike way, ‘as I explained last night when I rang you, I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone for—two to three days at the most—but I’ll ring you every day.’

‘I’ll look after them, don’t you worry,’ Brenda said earnestly. ‘And I’ll water your plants—and Dad’s always there if there’s a problem. It’s lucky it’s still school holidays so I can spend most of my time here.’

‘Thanks, kid. I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ Georgia said with a warm smile, and, after a last look round and a few more instructions, took herself upstairs to confront William Brady again.

‘Well, Will, what’s it to be?’

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to drive,’ he said quietly. ‘This strike doesn’t look like ending today.’

‘Damn,’ Georgia said, and then, ‘Look—is there anything I can say to convince you that you’re taking me on a wild-goose chase?’

‘No.’

She stared at him, read the determination in his eyes and turned away abruptly. ‘All right, I’m all packed. We’ll have to unhitch the car from the horse-box. If you’d care to go down and do that—if you’re capable of doing that—I’ll be down in a minute. Have you any objections—not that you’ll be able to stop me—if I ring my father and tell him where I’ll be?’

‘So long as he doesn’t make you change your mind, no. All the same, I’ll wait while you do it.’

‘What do you think I might be tempted to do instead?’ she taunted.

‘Heaven knows,’ he said drily.

Georgia glared at him then picked up the phone. But her father was already in court and unavailable, and all she could do was leave a message with his secretary to the effect that she was going to Sydney with one William Brady, as well as Neil Dettweiler’s name and the name of the hospital he was in. ‘Satisfied?’ she said coldly as she put the phone down.

‘Yes. Don’t you talk to your mother?’

‘Of course I do. I’m just not sure where she is—other than that she’s up on the Darling Downs visiting family, of which she has a whole army, and is due home late today or tomorrow. Besides…’ She paused.

‘Go on.’

‘Oh, well…’ She shrugged. ‘My mother worries.’

‘I see.’

‘Then off you go and unhitch the horse-box. I will be down, I promise you.’

‘Very well, Miss Newnham.’

* * *

When Georgia appeared with her bag, her car, which was in fact a powerful Landcruiser, was waiting at the bottom of the steps with William Brady in the driver’s seat.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ she said, striding round the driver’s door. ‘It’s my car and I’ll drive it.’

He simply shrugged, got out and got in the other side. ‘Let me know when you need a break.’

She flung her bag in the back, got in and revved the engine, called goodbye to Brenda and drove off spinning the wheels. The rain had stopped but it was still cloudy and cold. They said nothing to each other as she negotiated the western suburbs of Brisbane and the heavy traffic along Waterworks Road, until finally she gained the South Eastern Freeway.

Then he did say, casually, ‘You drive well, Georgia.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Are we going to drive all the way to Sydney in a stony silence?’

‘Why not?’ she replied laconically, and switched on the windscreen wipers as the rain started to pour again. She was suddenly moved to add, ‘You don’t like me, I don’t like you—what point is there in idle chit-chat?’

‘You seem to like me even less today than you did last night,’ he commented.

‘I do,’ she said baldly.

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’m sure you don’t like me any more today than you did last night for one thing, and for another, taking advantage of little girls and sending them goosebumpy doesn’t recommend you to me at all.’

He raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. ‘What—do you mean young Brenda?’

‘Precisely’

‘But I didn’t do anything,’ he protested mildly. ‘I give you my word.’

‘Nevertheless, it got done,’ Georgia replied—quite irrationally, she realised, but didn’t care.

‘I’m not quite sure what I can say to that—’

‘Don’t bother,’ she flashed at him, then swore beneath her breath as the traffic slowed to a crawl.

‘Georgia, you’ll be a nervous wreck if you don’t…just let go a bit,’ he advised.

‘Why should I let go? The last thing I want to be doing is driving to Sydney in this weather, with a man I don’t like, on a mission that’s not going to do any good, and with my back ki—’ She broke off abruptly.

‘Ah, I thought your back was killing you—why didn’t you say so?’ he said exasperatedly. ‘Look, pull up at the next lay-by and let me drive, at least.’

She set her mouth stubbornly, then sighed suddenly. ‘All right.’

‘How did it happen?’ he asked a few minutes later, after they’d made the change and were on the road again. ‘Your back?’

‘I fell off a horse,’ Georgia said bleakly. ‘It’s only a pulled muscle.’

‘Did you get straight back on again?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did—why?’

‘I don’t know why, but I was pretty sure you would have.’

‘What does that make me? Quite mad on top of everything else you think about me?’

‘No. Quite wise—isn’t that what one should always do?’

Georgia cast him a narrowed, frustrated glance. ‘You didn’t make it sound wise at all!’

He smiled faintly. ‘The trouble is, I’m valiantly trying to make conversation with you and not getting much help. Uh—let’s try another tack. You said you had two hacks?’

Georgia’s face softened despite herself. ‘Yes, Wendell and Connie. Her name’s actually Constancy, and she…well, we almost grew up together, so I’ve got a very soft spot for her.’

‘What about Wendell?’

Georgia’s expression grew indignant and fiery as she said, ‘Some people should be shot, you know!’

‘How so?’

She moved and settled her back against the improvised cushion they’d made of her coat. ‘He was abandoned, apparently, in a paddock with absolutely no feed. He was full of worms, thin as a rake and he’d damaged a tendon in his off-fore. He was quite pitiful when I found him.’

‘He looks a picture of health now.’

‘He does, doesn’t he?’ Georgia said contentedly, then grimaced wryly. ‘Whilst Connie is like my best friend, Wendell is a bit like my own kid.’

William Brady murmured, ‘Well, you’ve got quite a family, haven’t you?’

Georgia’s contentment faded and she looked away.

‘What have I said now?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

About an hour later, he pulled into a service station, topped up the petrol and disappeared into the shop. He came out with a carton of food and two cups of coffee in plastic cups. They’d passed through the Gold Coast and were winding along the banks of the Tweed river towards Murwillumbah. He drove for a couple more miles then pulled off the road beside a picnic spot with tables and benches. The weather had cleared and it was pleasantly peaceful beside the river, surrounded by the cane-fields.

‘We’ll have a little break,’ he said.

‘I should have thought of bringing some food,’ Georgia said inconsequentially as she sat on top of one of the tables eating an indifferent ham sandwich—then grimaced.

William Brady contemplated her in silence for a moment, then said, ‘You’re a strange mixture, Georgia Newnham. A lot more domesticated than one would have imagined.’

Georgia eyed him sceptically. ‘I’m sure that’s not meant as a compliment, Mr Shakespeare.’

‘But it is,’ he said idly. ‘It’s almost easy to picture you with a large family, plenty of horses, of course, organising everything beautifully, cooking up a storm—that kind of thing.’

‘Well, it’s funny you should say that, Will, but that’s how I pictured myself once,’ Georgia replied breezily.

‘What went wrong?’

She’d been looking at the river and swinging her leg, but now she looked down into his eyes, opened her mouth, then changed her mind and said lightly, ‘I’m only twenty-three, Will. I could still have it all in front of me, don’t you think?’

His gaze held hers and there was something unusually intent in it as he murmured, ‘I wonder. Did David give you those roses?’

But Georgia had her defences ready. ‘Nope,’ she said promptly. ‘If you really want to know it was Harvey.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Who’s Harvey? He’s a solicitor. He has a tendency to be quite pompous and filled with his own importance and he’s laying siege to me in his own inimitable manner—which means to say—’ she raised her eyebrows comically ‘—just won’t take no for an answer.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ William Brady said after a moment.

‘Believe me, if you ever got to meet Harvey you would.’

‘No, I mean that you haven’t found a way of dampening his pretensions,’ he said a shade drily.

‘Well…’ Georgia swung her leg again and looked into the distance, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘To be perfectly honest, he comes in handy sometimes. When one needs an escort one can…’ she gestured vaguely ‘…can handle.’

A faint smile twisted his lips. ‘Georgia, you don’t. Do you?’

‘Don’t what?’

‘String this man along?’

‘No, I don’t. I keep telling him there’s absolutely no future for us. I refuse to allow him to lay a finger on me yet he keeps popping up with dinner invitations, theatre invitations, flowers and so on. He has only himself to blame!’

‘How old is he?’

‘Thirty-three. How old are you?’

‘Thirty-three,’ William Brady said wryly. ‘And you’re right—he’s old enough to look out for himself, and if he lets you use him, he does only have himself to blame.’

‘Thank you,’ Georgia said with considerable irony.

‘I imagine David was a different proposition altogether, however. Did you fall for Neil on the rebound from him?’

Georgia jumped off the table. ‘You’re welcome to imagine what you like,’ she retorted. ‘But no, I did not, and your persistent interest in my love-life is beginning to annoy me considerably—particularly the insinuation that I’m some sort of scarlet woman. I’m much more like a nun these days, Mr Brady, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. Your concern for the men in my life, the men you imagine to be in my life, is—What are you, Will? Some kind of moral rights campaigner?’ she said scathingly.

‘Dear Georgia,’ he observed, ‘if you think I’ve mounted a campaign to rescue every stricken male from your clutches, you needn’t worry. You can do your damnedest elsewhere once Neil is strong enough to cope with it.’

‘So you don’t believe a word I’ve said—heaven knows why I even bother to talk to you,’ she said through her teeth.

‘There’s no need for us to be completely at logger-heads—’

‘There’s every need—I could be in danger of bursting a blood vessel,’ she answered candidly.

‘Why don’t you sit down and finish your coffee?’ he suggested.

She did, and bitterly contemplated the fact that William Brady succeeded in getting under her skin as few others did.

He watched her quizzically for a moment, then stood up and wandered over to the riverbank where he stood, half turned away from her, obviously lost in thought as he watched the water slide by.

And she found herself watching him. Watching and wondering as a breeze lifted his hair and fluttered his shirt but didn’t break his concentration. She realised he was a total enigma to her, and, in spite of everything, she was intrigued by that air of selfcontainment, by the growing awareness—reinforced by Brenda’s declaration, no doubt—that all the same he was a dangerously attractive man…

‘And what is going on behind those beautiful blue eyes now, Georgia?’ he said, making her jump.

‘I don’t know what you mean—nothing!’

‘Well, shall we continue on our merry way? Incidentally, I think we’ll go inland—through Tabulam, on to Tenterfield and the New England Highway.’

Georgia’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’

‘Weren’t you listening to the radio?’

‘No, not particularly.’

‘There’s another severe rain depression around Grafton, and, anyway, the New England is quicker, I think.’

‘Oh.’

‘Does that mean you approve?’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had much choice in the matter.’

He looked at her impassively.

‘Don’t forget I’m the wicked, scarlet, fallen woman in all this, Will,’ she taunted, and tilted her chin at him.

He laughed, touched her chin lightly with his knuckles and said lightly, ‘Bravo, Georgia. That’s exactly how a wicked woman should look—as if she doesn’t give a damn. Ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Georgia muttered, and stalked towards the car while he stowed their rubbish neatly into the carton then into the garbage bin—which annoyed her all the more, for reasons she was unable to identify.

The road was winding and tortuous as they took the Tabulam turn-off and snaked up the Great Dividing Range. Unfortunately, the rain depression they were trying to avoid on the Pacific Highway seemed to be well entrenched up towards the New England, and at times it was hard to see the road. Georgia resolutely said nothing and they passed through Tenterfield and Glen Innes in what should have been pretty, rolling countryside but was now soaked and desolate.

It was just after Guyra, a little town known for its lamb and potatoes, that another set-back occurred—and a rather terrifying one at that. They came across an accident that must have just happened, involving two semi-trailers that looked to have collided head-on and were now both lying on their sides, completely blocking the wet road, with their loads strewn far and wide.

William Brady swore as a police car with siren blaring and blue light flashing raced past them to draw up precipitately. Georgia stared wide-eyed at the scene of chaos and destruction and said shakily, ‘Will…’

But he pulled up beside the police car, turned to her and said abruptly, ‘Stay here.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘See if they need a hand.’

‘I—’

‘You just do as you’re told,’ he ordered, and swung himself out of the Landcruiser.

She did for a bit, then decided she couldn’t stand by and do nothing any longer, for, although one of the drivers was miraculously unhurt, the other was apparently trapped in his cab.

She arrived on the scene to witness an act of extraordinary bravery and strength on the part of William Brady as he crawled into the mangled cab, managed to prise apart with his bare hands the sections that were trapping the driver by his legs long enough for the policemen to pull him out, then retreated swiftly before getting trapped himself.

‘You’re a bloody hero, mate!’ one of the policemen said, and glanced gratefully over his shoulder as an ambulance skidded to a halt beside them. ‘If we’d had to wait for the jaws of life he might have lost his legs, by the look of it.’

It was a sentiment the ambulance driver agreed with rather fervently, while the other driver started to shake William by the hand most emotionally.

All of which he bore with a slight grimace until his gaze fell on Georgia, who was staring at him, transfixed. ‘I thought I told you to stay put,’ he said coolly.

She came out of her daze, set her teeth and stalked back to the Landcruiser.

He joined her a few minutes later, set the vehicle in motion and turned it back the way they’d come.

‘Am I allowed to speak?’ Georgia enquired.

‘Yes, why not?’

‘You seem to feel you can order me here, there and everywhere, Will, so I thought I’d check whether you feel your dominance extends to my verbal processes too. Why are we going back the way we came?’

‘I should have thought that was fairly obvious,’ he drawled. ‘The road is blocked.’

‘There must be other roads.’

‘There are two. One is an unmade road a very long way round and the other is flooded to a depth even a four-wheel drive might have trouble with.’

‘I see.’

He flicked her an ironic little look. ‘What do you see, Georgia?’

‘Nothing,’ she said politely. ‘It was a figure of speech.’

‘Then allow me to enlighten you. They’ve called for a crane to unblock the highway. It should take a couple of hours at the most. We’ll wait here in the meantime.’

Fifteen minutes later, Georgia was standing in the middle of a motel bedroom in Guyra. William Brady was on the phone.

She looked across the room at him expectantly as he put it down.

‘There’s a slight improvement—he’s still critical but stable.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said quietly, ‘but don’t forget I was prepared to go the long way round.’ She glanced around the neat, very basic but painfully clean little room.

William Brady surveyed her expressionlessly for a long moment then he said drily, ‘All the same, why do I get the feeling you’ve put a jinx on this trip, Georgia?’

She stared at him, then sank down wearily onto the double bed. ‘That’s ridiculous. All right! I was being bitchy just now, but I resent being treated like a child—and, in case you feel I didn’t appreciate how brave you were, I did. But I can’t control the weather, air traffic controllers or colliding semi-trailers. And I am here, after all.’

‘In person but not in willing spirit,’ he murmured, still surveying her. ‘And that means we need to talk some more, I think.’

‘What about? There’s nothing to talk about!’ she protested angrily. ‘Aren’t you even a little tired after your Herculean effort out there?’

Their gazes clashed and she bit her lip and coloured because it seemed she couldn’t help but compound her bitchiness at the moment, and she didn’t like herself particularly for it…‘Oh, hell,’ she said abruptly. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but you do ask for it sometimes. What do you want to talk about, Will? Why don’t we make it ‘“shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—and cabbages and kings” for a change? I might just be able to bear that.’

The faintest glint of amusement lit his eyes briefly, but he said gravely, ‘Why don’t you get comfortable—or at least get your back comfortable? Would you like a cup of tea?’

She sighed heavily, then, with a defeated gesture, because her back really was sore, pulled off her boots, piled the pillows up behind her and swung her legs onto the bed. ‘Go ahead and talk, Will, go ahead,’ she invited tiredly.

But he made the tea first. And not until she was sipping it gratefully did he say, ‘Neil was a bit of a Samuel Pepys—did you know?’

‘No, but I didn’t know a lot about Neil. So he kept a diary? Bully for him.’

‘Yes, although in a thoroughly disorganised, typically Neil manner, and like that other gentleman, not so much to record his appointments but to express his odd, impromptu thoughts.’

‘Well?’ Georgia drank some more tea.

‘Two of his more recent entries were particularly interesting in light of what you revealed this morning. The first one read, “Got disturbed by Harvey Wainwright, of all people. Is the guy for real?” And the other…’ He paused and his hazel gaze captured hers in a way Georgia was unable to resist. ‘The other read, “There’s some mystery to do with David Harper…” And three heavily scored exclamation marks followed.’

Georgia blinked and her mouth fell open. ‘Go on…’

‘I can’t. The entry ended there. Would that be the same David who was on your mind when you woke up this morning?’

‘But…but to my knowledge Neil didn’t know Harvey! And I don’t think Harvey would have wanted to know him—he likes his art all framed and preferably old, so he can rely on other people’s judgement, and he prefers to ignore any vaguely bohemian effort that may have gone into it.’

William Brady smiled unamusedly. ‘It’s not Harvey I’m worried about. On the other hand, David Harper is not…unknown to a lot of people—including me.’

‘Look,’ Georgia said tightly, ‘this is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. In fact I’m beginning to feel as if I’ve been framed somehow!’

‘Why don’t you tell me about David Harper—?’

‘It has absolutely nothing to do with you,’ she flashed back. ‘Why should I?’ But she stopped and ground her teeth as she saw him register the unspoken admission that there was something to tell. Then she said coldly, ‘You can go to hell, Mr Brady.’

William Brady didn’t reply, but he didn’t look greatly disturbed either. In fact it infuriated her to find that not only was he a dangerously attractive man but also, she was beginning to think, a dangerously clever one too, who could toy with her when he chose and then indicate that there was an unbridgeable gap between them—as if they existed on different planes not only physically but morally and mentally as well…

As if I am all the things he thinks I am, she thought. How does he do it? And suddenly it was too much for her.

She leapt off the bed, stifled a groan of pain and snapped, ‘I’ve had enough! Hand over my car keys, Mr Shakespeare; I’m going home.’

‘Georgia.’ William Brady stood up. ‘You—’

‘No! I’m not saying any more, I’m going, and if you don’t let me I’ll call the police. You’ve done nothing but insult me, and play on my finer feelings in between times, and I’m sick to death of it. Hand them over, Will!’

But he didn’t do that at all. He stared down at her flashing eyes and working mouth, her imperiously held out hand, and then, before she could believe what was happening to her, pulled her into his arms and lowered his head to kiss her.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, twisting her head away valiantly.

‘You could call it an experiment,’ he murmured, and added, ‘Don’t fight me, Georgia.’

Of course she did, but all to no avail. He simply resisted, and then something further snapped within her, as if to say, All right, if you won’t let me go, you asked for it. And she said through her teeth, ‘Well, kiss me, then, Will, if you’re so jolly well set on it, and see if I give a damn! Let’s just get it over and done with.’

He laughed softly down at her. ‘That’s my Georgia. I thought you might see it that way.’

What she was quite unprepared for was the way he did it, which was to say that he didn’t even commence until she’d stopped breathing heavily from her exertions.

He held her cornflower gaze captive for a while and she wondered warily what was to come, and began to regret her heat-of-the-moment gesture. At the same time she became aware of other things: the faint scar running to his temple, how tall he was and how wide his shoulders were, the warmth of his body on hers, the sudden urge she had to touch her fingertips to the little lines beside his mouth then slide them down his throat…

Things like that and worse—how his hands felt on her body, strong and knowledgeable, as if he knew just how she liked to be held and caressed, knew all her special places, which were suddenly alive and aching for his touch to be repeated, how she would dearly love to kiss this man and make him feel the same way—aroused by her expertise and desirability…

That was when he lowered his mouth to hers at last, and she found herself trying to do just that. With the result that what should have been a ‘close your eyes and think of England’ response on her part became something quite different—a passionate little encounter of leaping senses and a rather devastatingly intimate and pleasurable experience.

William Brady ended it, however, when he lifted his head, looked into her stunned cornflower eyes and drawled with a wryly lifted eyebrow, ‘You’d make a very troublesome nun, Georgia.’