Running From the Storm (18 page)

What would she do?

Live the rest of her days alone, unloved and lonely, with no partner and no family.

It was a bleak prospect.

If he had never come back into her life, she might have eventually succeeded in burying the past and convinced herself that her feelings for him had been ephemeral. But, now she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he still affected her as much as ever, how could she even contemplate loving another man?

She sighed. It had been a long, emotionally exhausting day. Her brain felt muddled, her eyes were heavy and waves of tiredness were starting to wash over her.

Seeing her heavy lids begin to droop, Zander remarked, ‘You look shattered, so I suggest we get some sleep. There are plenty of pillows and clean bedclothes in the cupboards, so I’ll make the bed up while you have first turn in the bathroom.’

He rose and, having produced a couple of fresh towels, handed her one before picking up the kettle.

‘I noticed there were some unopened packs of toiletries in the cabinet,’ he went on. ‘And there’s just about enough hot water to wash in, so all you need now is a candle to light your way …’

As Caris left the glowing warmth of the fire and followed him to the bathroom in the flickering candlelight, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, she once again felt that strong sense of déjà vu.

Only this wasn’t a mistaken feeling that the same little scene was being played over again. It was so similar to what had happened at Owl Lodge that it was really like history repeating itself, and she found the whole concept extremely disturbing.

Having set the candle down on a convenient shelf and put the kettle on a stool by the sink, Zander left at once, closing the door behind him.

Cold, dank air wrapped her in a clammy shroud. The candle cast grotesque, elongated shadows and her reflection in the mirror put her in mind of a Hallowe’en mask.

Striving to calm her agitation, she looked in the bathroom cabinet. Amongst its contents were several tablets of soap, an unopened tube of toothpaste and a pack of cellophane-wrapped toothbrushes.

She helped herself to a yellow one and, like some automaton, began to prepare for the night ahead.

A night she was dreading.

Zander had said he wouldn’t try to force her and she believed him. But if he kissed her, touched her, even looked at her in a certain way, her whole body came to life.

It had been that way from the start. He had stolen her heart at their very first meeting, stopped her breath and, like dropping a lighted match into dry straw, sent her up in flames.

She had wanted to be in his arms, his bed, loved and wanted him as she had loved and wanted no other man. But after all that had happened there was no going back.

Shivering, she finished cleaning her teeth and washed as quickly as possible before huddling into her robe once more and brushing and loosely braiding her long, dark hair.

Picking up the candle, she made her way back through the gloom. In spite of all her concerns it was a relief to leave the cold dankness of the bathroom for the cosy warmth of the kitchen.

Zander was putting the finishing touches to the bed, a lock of fair hair falling over his forehead and his robe gaping a little to expose the strong column of his throat and an expanse of broad chest.

He glanced up, and at the sight of her shiny face and plait his own face softened. She thought he was about to make some teasing remark, but in the end he only asked casually, ‘All finished?’

She nodded and, looking anywhere but at him, mumbled, ‘I’ve left you half the hot water.’

She hadn’t intended to repeat the pattern but hadn’t been able to help herself.

The look on his face spoke volumes, but all he said was, ‘In that case, I’ll go and take advantage of your generosity.’

When he had relieved her of the candle and departed, she let her glance stray to the bed, which he had pulled closer to the fire.

It looked both comfortable and inviting. But a double bed was much too emotive. Every nerve in her body tightened; she looked hastily away and, keeping her gaze averted, took her seat by the fire.

Her previous tiredness had vanished and she was tense and on-edge. Unable to relax, she tried to steel herself for what lay ahead.

Though she had been waiting for him, she jumped convulsively when he returned.

‘Sorry,’ he said apologetically. ‘Did I startle you?’ As she shook her head he went on, ‘I thought if you were half-asleep I might have done.’

‘I wasn’t half-asleep. In fact, I don’t feel tired any longer.’

‘Well, if you’re in no hurry to go to bed, how would you like a nightcap? Say, a small brandy?’

‘Brandy? Is there any?’

‘I found a bottle in one of the cupboards—no doubt kept for medicinal purposes.’

Wondering if it would be wise, she hesitated.

As though reading her thoughts, he assured her sardonically, ‘There’s no need to worry; I’m not planning to get you drunk so I can have my evil way with you.’

Needing something to steady her, she said, ‘In that case, I will have a drop please.’

Producing a bottle of Cognac, he remarked, ‘I’m afraid I can only find tumblers.’

‘That’s fine by me.’ She was pleased with her casual tone.

When the brandy was poured he passed her one of the tumblers and sat down opposite. For a while they sipped in silence, watching the fire. Then, indicating her empty glass, Zander enquired, ‘Another drop?’

The brandy had had a beneficial effect and, feeling more confident, she said, ‘Do you know, I think I might.’

He poured another measure and handed her back the glass; whether by accident or design his fingers brushed hers and the tumbler jerked in her hand so that she banged it down clumsily.

‘Dear me,’ he murmured mildly. ‘You
are
jumpy.’

Completely thrown because she had thought herself steadier she indicated the shadowy room and the bed, crying, ‘Surely you don’t expect me to be at ease in this situation?’

Deliberately misunderstanding her, he said, ‘It isn’t all that different from Owl Lodge, and you were happy there.’

Stung, she cried, ‘That was different! You weren’t angry, bitter and resentful then.’

‘I had no reason to be. I had no suspicion then that you were going to turn my life upside down by walking out on me.’

But that was unjust, she thought. In the end it was
he
who had screwed up
her
life.
He
who had thought and said the unforgivable …

Iron bands tightening round her heart, she whispered, ‘If only you hadn’t come into my office that day—’

She broke off as he rose to face her. His face a white, taut mask, he demanded, ‘Is that all you care? Do you
really
wish we’d never met?’

She tried to say yes, but was unable to; completely overwrought now, she burst into tears.

‘Oh, hell! I’m sorry.’ Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her dark head against his chest.

Struggling to quell the sobs that kept rising in her throat, she heard the anguish in his voice as he repeated, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry … Don’t cry, my love, please don’t cry …’

She could feel the warmth of his skin and his heart thundering beneath her cheek; could smell the clean male scent of him. Suddenly, as if the intervening years had never been, everything she had once felt for him came flooding back like a tidal wave.

When he lifted her face to kiss away the tears she clung to him, and when he kissed her mouth she kissed him back with all the love that was filling her heart.

The first faint streaks of dawn were just beginning to filter into the room when she stirred and opened her eyes. The candles had guttered and gone out, and the stove had only a faint red glow beneath its whitish blanket of ash.

The air in the room struck chill, but she felt cosy and warm, and utterly content. Close by her side, Zander was still sleeping peacefully. She could see very little in the gloom but she could hear his light, even breathing.

Her eyelids drifting shut again, she lay half-asleep and half-awake, remembering how harsh and ragged it had been the previous night while he’d been making love to her. Remembering too how his hunger had seemed insatiable and his kisses had held an urgency, a kind of desperation, that had swept her along and made her feel the same.

She had been his lover in every sense of the word, rendering passion for passion, giving everything she had to give and more. There had been nothing in the universe but the pair of them and what they had felt for each other.

Only later, when some of the urgency had abated, had their love-making become sweeter and more leisurely, tenderness and caring mingling with the passion, at times eclipsing it.

She had been filled with a joy and happiness beyond words, the kind of joy and happiness she hadn’t felt for more than three years …

All at once her eyelids flew open and she began to tremble violently.

After all her warnings to herself, what had made her ignore the past and behave so foolishly?

But she knew the answer to that question. Her determination had crumbled into dust when he had called her ‘my love’.

But they were just words. She couldn’t really believe he still loved her. If by any chance he did have any feelings of affection left for her, they would surely die if he discovered what she was keeping from him?

And he seemed certain to.

Last night, after kissing her, he’d settled her head on his shoulder and said softly, ‘The barriers are down now. Tomorrow we’ll really talk, lay the last of the ghosts to rest …’

Her blood ran cold. She knew exactly what he meant by ‘lay the last of the ghosts to rest’. But if she was forced to bring the whole thing into the open and tell him the truth he would never forgive her.

So what could she do?

The only way to avoid a confrontation she dreaded was to leave now, before he awoke. If she could find his car keys …

With a caution born of fear she slid carefully out of bed and crept across the kitchen to where their clothing was hanging. Her heart in her mouth, she let down the pulley, flinching when it squeaked a little.

None of her clothes were completely dry and everything felt miserably cold and clammy, but she struggled into them as quickly as possible before pulling on her damp shoes.

Then with shaking hands she went through the pockets of his trousers.

They were empty.

His light jacket was hanging over a chair, but again the search proved fruitless.

So where were the keys likely to be?

Creeping back across the living room, she spotted his navy-blue towelling robe lying at the foot of the bed but, having felt in the pockets, once again her hopes were dashed.

She was about to look in the first of the drawers, when Zander stirred in his sleep and began to show signs of waking.

No, it was too risky to go on looking. It would be better to leave now and make her escape on foot. When she reached the road, hopefully she could get a lift fairly quickly, but if not she would walk towards the town until she could.

Pulling on her mac, she grabbed her bag and was moving cautiously towards the door when Zander sighed and threw out an arm.

Her heart thudding against her ribs, she froze, afraid to move a muscle.

After a minute, when there was no further sound or movement, she plucked up courage and, tiptoeing out, closed the door silently behind her and hurried across the hall.

Once outside, in the grey bleakness of an early dawn she found it was cold and wet underfoot but no longer raining.

The sight of Zander’s car jolted her and made her realize that if she went down the drive and he awoke and came after her he could easily overtake her before she reached the road.

But surely he wouldn’t come after her?

Or would he? She couldn’t be certain.

The eight-foot-high wall surrounding this part of the park meant she had to use the gates. But rather than keep to the drive itself, it would be safer to take a parallel route. That way, she would be screened by the bushes and rhododendrons, and would only need to join the drive just before she reached the Lodge.

Leaving the house behind her, she set off over the undulating parkland as fast as possible. The rough, grassy terrain scattered with snapped twigs and broken branches wasn’t easy to negotiate, but in spite of that she made quite good time.

Though straining her ears, she heard no sound of a car and, knowing she could only be a few hundred yards from the lodge, she was breathing a sigh of relief when, topping a rise, she got a nasty shock.

Ahead where the ground dipped into a hollow both the drive and the surrounding countryside had disappeared beneath a brown lake of water.

As she gazed blankly at the scene before her, she realized that, after so much heavy rain, on its lower reaches—where two fast-flowing streams joined it—the River Darley must have burst its banks.

If that was the case, the lie of the land made it almost certain that by road at least Gracedieu would be cut off from the outside world until the flood subsided.