Читать книгу A Real Engagement - Marjorie Lewty - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

JOSIE’S hope for an undisturbed sleep was not realised. In the middle of the night she awoke with a start. Something cold and wet had crawled across her face. She sat up, her heart thumping. A snake? A lizard? With a cry of horror she made herself lift a shaking hand to brush it away, but her fingers encountered only water, and at the same moment a larger splash fell on her back and trickled coldly down her spine. More large splashes followed. She was wide awake now, and swung herself off the divan. Looking up, she saw that the ceiling had an ominous crack in it. At that moment the crack opened further, and the water that had been gathering behind poured down, straight on to the divan.

Josie grabbed her gown, but it was soaking. She lifted her bag, the photograph and her watch on to the table and pushed it to the other side of the room. They all seemed to have escaped the deluge up to now. She squinted at her watch and saw that it was twenty past two. There was only one urgent thought in her mind now—the water had to be turned off and the tap was in the next-door house.

Rummaging in her bag, she found an old pair of jeans she had brought with her for work in the garden. She pulled them on over her nightie and raced along the path to the next house. There was no reply to her loud banging, but she found that again the door wasn’t locked. She went in and felt around for a switch. The room was flooded with light. She yelled several times at the top of her voice ‘Help! Is anyone there?’ No reply. Josie looked uncertainly up the stairs. The man must be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Well, he was going to be rudely awakened.

At the top of the stairs there was a landing with four doors. One was partly open to disclose a bathroom. She banged on the other three doors in turn, shouting, ‘Help! Emergency!’

Still no response.

She looked doubtfully at the three doors. She had to find the man, and fast. Choosing the middle door, she opened it and snapped on the light. She’d been lucky in choosing the right room, but only at this moment did she wonder if the man was here alone. She saw with relief that the hump in the bed belonged to one body only. His face was half-buried in the pillow, and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. There was a sheet covering the lower half of his body but the top half was naked. Josie hoped he was wearing pyjama trousers, but this was no time for maidenly modesty. She walked across the room and grabbed his shoulder with both hands, shaking it as hard as she could. His skin felt warm and slightly moist under her fingers, and the muscles stiffened in resistance to pressure. At last he opened his eyes and blinked up at her in the light.

‘What the devil...?’ he muttered.

‘Wake up!’ she shouted. ‘Go down and turn the water off—now—or we’ll be flooded out.’

He blinked again, and focused on her face. ‘You!’ he growled. ‘Look here, I’ve had just about enough of—’

She gave him another shake. ‘Never mind what you’ve had enough of. Come down and turn the water off or we’ll both be drowned.’ She didn’t know whether the crack in the ceiling would reach to both houses, but that didn’t matter. It was her own house that was suffering at the moment.

He levered himself up in the bed. ‘What?’ he shouted angrily.

Josie gathered all her patience. ‘Flood,’ she said, slowly and clearly. ‘Water. Coming through the ceiling. Come down and turn the tap off.’

She seemed to have got through to him at last. He threw back the sheet and got out of bed. Josie was relieved to see that he was wearing pyjama trousers. Cursing under his breath, he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. Josie followed and waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. When he came out of the kitchen he glared at her and said nastily, ‘Well, I’ve turned off your water. What sort of game are you playing? First you want the water on, then you want it off. Is it your idea of a joke?’ He evidently hadn’t taken in all she had told him.

‘You’d better come and look,’ she said, turning towards the door.

He stood where he was. He obviously wasn’t a man who liked to be given orders. But as she reached her sitting-room Josie heard his bare feet padding along behind her.

Inside, the tiled floor was awash. Thank goodness she’d put her bag and the other things out of harm’s way on the table.

The man was close behind her. ‘What happened, exactly?’ he said irritably, just as if she was responsible. ‘What were you doing to cause this?’

‘Don’t be idiotic.’ Josie had completely lost her temper with him. ‘Look up there,’she added dramatically, pointing to the widening crack in the ceiling.

He looked up, frowning darkly. Then he splashed across the floor and examined the crack. Water had stopped pouring and was now merely dripping. He pulled the divan out of the line of fire and turned back to her. ‘How did you find out what was happening down here?’ he asked.

Josie said, ‘I was sleeping on the divan and I was dripped on.’

‘Why on the divan? What’s wrong with the bedrooms?’

She sighed heavily. ‘Do I have to go through this third degree? Briefly, none of the rooms upstairs has lights. The bulbs must have expired. I don’t happen to carry a storm lantern round with me.’

Without another word he ran up the stairs and was down again in about half a minute. ‘You’re right,’ he said, joining her at the table. And then, wearily, ‘Well, you’ll have to finish your night’s sleep in one of my spare rooms.’

‘No,’ Josie snapped.

‘Now who’s being idiotic?’ the man said. ‘You can’t sleep here.’

‘Of course I can. I can feel my way into one of the beds upstairs. Or perhaps you could lend me a torch?’

He picked up her bag. ‘No,’ she squealed, hastily pushing the silver-framed photograph into it and slipping the bracelet of the watch on to her wrist.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Come along.’ He put a hand on her back to urge her to the door. ‘Good Lord, you’re soaking wet, girl.’

Josie hadn’t had time to find a sweater before she rushed for help. Now she realised that the top of her thin nightie must have taken most of the first drips of water before she escaped. She also realised that his hand was still spread out on her back. She tried to twist away, but he was pushing her relentlessly to the door.

‘I’ll be OK,’ she muttered.

He ignored that. ‘Everything can wait until morning,’ he said, and now he sounded very tired. ‘I want the rest of my sleep even if you don’t. No, don’t argue. I’ve no intention of pouncing on you; you needn’t worry about that.’

She shrugged and gave in. He was much too strong to fight with.

In the next house he led her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms. Switching on the light, he said, ‘There you are,’ and yawned. ‘Now, find something dry to put on and get into bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea. You look as if you need it.’

His eyes passed dismissively over her as she stood, shivering, in the middle of the room, her hair lank and the thin nightie clinging revealingly to the top part of her body. She must look a sight, but it wasn’t kind of him to remind her of it. ‘Don’t make tea specially for me,’ she said, biting her lip to stop her teeth chattering.

‘Of course not,’ he said, and went out of the room.

Josie pulled off the jeans and the damp nightie and found another nightie in her bag, one that wasn’t at all revealing. Slipping it over her head, she went along to the bathroom next door. She looked longingly at the modern shower, but that would have to wait until the morning. So she washed her face and hands and towelled her hair. Then she returned to the bedroom.

She was too tired to take in any details of the room, but the rugs were soft and the double bed was blissfully comfortable as she crawled into it and propped herself up against the pillows. She was looking forward to the cup of tea, however ungraciously it had been offered.

A few minutes later there was a tap at the door and the man appeared, bearing a mug, which he put down on the bedside table.

‘Thank you,’Josie said, ‘And thank you for taking charge of things. You’ve been kind.’

His lips turned down. ‘Enlightened self-interest, it’s called,’ he said enigmatically. He switched on the bedside lamp. ‘Don’t you want your photograph beside you? I saw you pushing it away lovingly into your bag.’

She almost laughed. He must imagine that the photograph was of some boyfriend—or even a husband. She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. And let him make what he could of that.

He looked rather hard at her, but didn’t press the point. ‘There’s a lock on the door,’ he said, ‘and by the way, what’s your name?’

‘Josie,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to reply. Then he said, ‘Leon.’ He walked across the room, switched off the light and opened the door. Then without another word he went out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him.

A charming host! Josie thought with a grin, but at least he had brought her some tea.

She sat up in bed and sipped it, relishing the feeling of the hot liquid slipping down her throat and spreading heat through her whole body. She hadn’t known she was so cold.

She finished the tea, put the mug on the table, switched off the bedside lamp and snuggled down into the soft bed.

After the hard lumpiness of the divan it felt heavenly. This time she was sure she would sleep undisturbed, and she didn’t bother to get up to lock the door. She pulled the light duvet up to her chin, yawned luxuriously and was asleep almost immediately.

Josie had her uninterrupted sleep at last. She woke to see sunlight making bright thin lines along the shutters. When she consulted her watch she saw that it was half-past seven. Getting out of bed, she crossed the room and opened the door a crack. The next door was wide open, and from below came the sounds of a man in the kitchen—various thumps and clatters. Her gown had suffered the fate of the divan, but the bathroom was only next door so she grabbed a pair of shorts and a white top and sprinted along the passage. She decided against a shower, just had a quick wash, and had just got into her clothes when there was an enormous crash from below followed by loud expletives. She smiled to herself, and had started to dry her hair when there was a loud banging on the door and Leon’s voice saying, ‘May I come in? I need a bottle of antiseptic from the cupboard.’

Josie heard the urgency in his voice and, pushing back her damp curls, opened the door. Leon was wearing jeans cut off at the knee. The rest of him was bare and his left hand was covered m blood. He grunted his thanks and began to rummage awkwardly in the wall cupboard with his right hand.

Josie had taken a course in first aid when she was looking after her mother, and she took charge immediately. ‘Put your hand under the cold tap,’ she instructed in her best ward-sister’s tone. ‘I’ll find the antiseptic.’

He did as he was told with surprising meekness, holding on to the side of the bowl with his other hand. ‘Bread knife,’ he explained weakly. He looked very pale.

Josie found a bottle of iodine and a new roll of bandages in the cupboard, and, lifting his forearm by the elbow, saw that a deep gash down the side of his hand was bleeding freely. She cut off a length of bandage with the scissors provided and made it into a thick pad, which she pressed firmly over the wound, glancing again at his face. She saw that he was paler still.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said weakly. ‘I’m OK.’ He swayed on his feet as he spoke.

Josie pulled the bathroom stool behind him, still holding on to the pad. ‘Sit down and get your head between your knees. Lower than that.’ She pushed his head down further. How thick and crisp his dark hair was under her fingers, she thought, letting her hand remain on his neck. His skin was bronzed, except for a paler line where his hair had been clipped at the nape. She had a mad urge to lean down and put her lips against it. She stood up quickly, trembling inside. The sheer physical magnetism of the man was dangerous. She must be very careful or she might make a fool of herself. She cringed as she remembered his look of cynical contempt when he’d thought she was trying to seduce him. That had been a misunderstanding, but it had shown, only too plainly, what he thought of an unwanted advance from her sex.

After a few minutes he sat up, and she was pleased to see the colour coming back into his face. Very carefully she lifted a corner of the pad. ‘Oh, good,’ she said cheerfully. ‘The bleeding has almost stopped. ‘I’ll put some iodine on, so hold your breath.’

He didn’t even wince when she applied the antiseptic, although it must have stung horribly. She found lint to cover the wound and then bandaged the hand firmly. ‘There you are,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘You mustn’t use your left hand much or you’ll become a hospital case if the bleeding starts again.’

He looked up at her as she cleaned the wash-basin and tidied the cupboard. ‘You’re very professional,’ he said. ‘Are you a nurse?’

She shook her head, putting the scissors back in their case. ‘No, but I looked after my mother, who was a semi-invalid and always having accidents of one sort or another. She died some months ago.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘But I appreciate your expertise. I make a fool of myself where my own blood is concerned, but I don’t seem to react to other people’s blood. There’s a question for a psychiatrist.’

Josie smiled. ‘We’d better not go into that. Now, come down when you feel like it and I’ll see what I can do with the bread knife.’

In her bedroom, Josie put on sandals and ran a comb through her curls. She was smiling as she ran downstairs. She seemed to have formed some sort of understanding with the man, and that would make things much more pleasant if they were to be neighbours.

The kitchen was large and modern, nothing like her poor affair next door. She was suddenly aware that she hadn’t given a thought to the chaos in Mon Abri since last night, but that would have to wait.

Leon had evidently been trying to cut a stale baguette into slices for toast, using a plate instead of a wooden board. Naturally, the bread had slipped on the plate, which was now lying in fragments on the floor. ‘Men!’ she muttered.

She found a brush in the cupboard and brushed up the pieces of broken plate, then carefully washed the bread knife. Then she cut more slices of baguette, which she put in the wide-mouthed toaster. She made one cup of instant coffee and set the small round table with one plate and knife, butter from the fridge and three different kinds of jam.

As she was taking out the toast Leon appeared in the doorway. In spite of his injured hand he had managed to dress neatly in jeans and a cream silk shirt. His springy dark hair was brushed tidily. He really was very good-looking, Josie thought. She said, ‘I’ve made some toast. Was that what you were trying to do?’

He nodded and sat down at the table. ‘Are you going to join me?’

‘Yes, if I’m invited,’ Josie said.

‘The least I can do,’ he said. ‘Please sit down and join me for breakfast.’

She put an extra knife and plate on the table, made a mug of coffee, and sat down opposite him. She found that she was extremely hungry, and munched toast and apricot jam ravenously. She glanced apologetically at Leon, who was having some difficulty because of his tightly bandaged hand. She knew better than to offer to cut up the toast for him. He wasn’t the kind of man who would tolerate nannying. ‘Sorry I’m being a pig,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember when I had a proper meal.’

‘Carry on,’he said, sitting back in his chair and eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘Where did you come from yesterday?’ he said.

‘From London,’ Josie said. ‘I bought some basic food in Menton, before I took a taxi up here, but by the time I’d found my house I was too hot and tired to eat, so I just flopped down on the nearest flat surface.’ She pulled a face and added, ‘Until you disturbed me so ungallantly.’ She laughed lightly. If they could share a joke that would put the embarrassing incident in its true perspective.

But there was no laughter, not even a smile in the strange grey eyes as he regarded her narrowly. ‘What gives you the idea that Mon Abri belongs to you?’ he enquired.

Josie choked on a piece of toast. She had begun to like this man, to think that he liked her, that they would be able to talk together rationally. But his tone and the way he had framed his question made it an insult.

‘I resent that. I certainly own Mon Abri. What right have you to question it?’ She spoke calmly, but danger signals flashed in the hazel-green eyes.

He frowned, puzzled. ‘How old are you, Josie?’

She kept her temper with an effort. ‘I really don’t see what my age has to do with the matter, but, if you must know, I’m twenty-three.’

He stared at her, dark brows raised. ‘Well, well, I was a long way out. When I first saw you, stretched out on the divan, I took you for about fifteen—one of a party of youngsters who were wandering about the world. I expected to see your friends joining you, setting up a squat in this pleasant place. Then, when you walked into my house and drank my tea, and smiled seductively at me—’

‘I didn’t smile seductively,’Josie broke in furiously.

‘And smiled seductively at me,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘I upgraded you to a higher age group—say seventeen or eighteen at the most. Yes, yes—’ he held up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak again ‘—I’m aware that I was mistaken about your intentions. But I don’t think I can be blamed for that. I must say I thought again when you saved me from bleeding to death just now, but twenty-three! No, I shouldn’t have guessed that It makes a difference.’

Josie gritted her teeth. ‘I suppose I may be allowed to own a house at twenty-three?’

‘Certainly. But not the house next door. And in case you’re going to say why not, it’s because I shall own it myself in a few days. I plan to restore the villa to its former glory, to take down the dividing walls and re-plan the rooms.’

‘Really?’ Josie raised delicate brows. He was so confident, so disgustingly sure of himself, that it would be a pleasure to take him down a peg or two. But she mustn’t rush it. ‘More coffee?’

‘Please.’ He pushed his mug across the table. He was not looking at her now. He was staring out of the window. No doubt planning what he was going to do with her house when he obtained it. He had a surprise coming to him, Josie thought, grinning to herself.

He pushed back his chair jerkily and got to his feet. ‘Let’s go outside and talk this over. Open air clears the head.’

‘Are you implying that my head needs clearing?’ she demanded acidly.

‘Don’t be silly.’ He grasped her arm and yanked her to her feet unceremoniously. ‘Bring the coffee and we’ll sit on the terrace.’

Josie had already discovered that he was a man who got his own way, by superior strength if necessary, and that it was a waste of time to argue. She shook off his hand. The touch of his fingers on her bare arm disturbed her. Oh, dear, if she had to battle with a man in the way of business, why couldn’t he have been as lacking in sex appeal to her as were the other men who had appeared in her life from time to time. Except Roger Ward, of course, and he had been married. She filled the two mugs again and followed Leon outside.

There was a white-painted table and chairs at the end of the terrace, where tendrils of vine hung down, making a kind of arbour. Josie thought she must get a similar table for her own end of the terrace.

Leon held out a chair for her politely and took the other one himself. ‘This is better. Now, let’s get things straight. My name is Kent—Leon Kent, practising architect. You seem to think you own the house next door. I am convinced that I am on the verge of becoming owner myself.’ His expression changed. There was no amusement in the strange grey eyes now. His mouth was hard as he added, almost under his breath, ‘And I mean to have it.’

Josie stared at him, and a wriggle of fear twisted in her stomach. She was going to have a fight on her hands, for she certainly wasn’t going to be bullied into parting with her house, not on any terms.

‘Why do you want the house anyway?’ he went on. ‘What do you propose to do with it?’

‘Live in it.’

‘Just as it is?’

‘Of course not. I intend to refurbish it to my own designs.’

‘You’re an interior designer?’

‘That’s what I want to be.’

He looked back at her, and his tone was reasonable now as he said, ‘Will you explain your claim to the house?’

Stormy hazel-green eyes looked straight into his. ‘I don’t have to answer that question. But as it’s such a simple answer I’ll tell you. It was left to me in my mother’s will. If you don’t believe me you can have it confirmed by my solicitor, Sebastian Cross of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. I have his phone number. Satisfied?’ she added defiantly.

He had been frowning as he listened. Now his frown deepened. ‘I must get in touch with my own solicitor before I answer that question,’ he said. ‘There’s something very funny going on and I mean to get to the bottom of it.’

Josie thought of her conversation with Uncle Seb and remembered uncomfortably that she, too, had wondered if there had been some mistake. She said, ‘May I ask the name of the person who promised to sell the house to you? Was it by any chance Charles Dunn?’

Dark brows rose. ‘Yes, it was, although I can’t imagine how you could have guessed. He’s an old colleague; I’ve worked with him for some time. You’re not suggesting that he has been conning me to get a better price for the house?’

‘Certainly not,’ Josie said indignantly. ‘Charles would never knowingly let a friend down.’

There was a silence, and his eyes narrowed as they watched her face. Then he said, his eyes still on her face, ‘You seem to know him very well.’

‘I should,’ Josie said. ‘He’s my father.’

Leon’s dark brows shot up. His eyes opened wide. She saw that she had really amazed him. Then, with a hint of suspicion in his voice, he asked, ‘Why didn’t I know you before, then, when I visited Charles at his home?’

She was tempted to throw her coffee cup at him. ‘Are you accusing me of being a liar?’ She was shaking with rage.

‘Calm down, Josie. I was merely asking a reasonable question. You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.’

She drew in a long breath. The beastly man. He always won an argument. She said, in what she hoped was a dignified voice, ‘I seldom see my father these days, although we get along very well when one or other of my stepmothers is out of the way.’ Her lips curled expressively.

‘I see,’ Leon said slowly. ‘When you told me your mother had died recently, I thought...’ He left the words in the air.

Josie shook her head. ‘Oh, no, my parents were divorced years ago. Charles has married and divorced again twice since then.’ She smiled tolerantly. ‘One side of Charles is a born romantic, always seeking the right woman, although the other side is a keen business man.’

‘Well, I hope he was in his business mode when he sold me Mon Abri, but I’ll have to have some further information. There must have been some slipup somewhere.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and phone my solicitors now, and then we shall know for sure which of us is the owner of the house.’

As Josie began to stand up he said, ‘No, don’t go away. This concerns both of us.’

He went into the sitting-room through the open French window and Josie listened to him dialling, her hands clenched tightly together.

If he came back and insisted that he was right and she was wrong, she would—What would she do?