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'Oh, no, no! I just wondered what time it was,' she lied, feeling guilty for lying and hating him because of it.

'Not meeting anyone, are you?' he asked perceptively, his tone sharper now, and wildly Anna denied it.

'I suppose you have to be secretive. Your mother keeps you on a tight rein, doesn't she?' he went on reflectively, and Anna began to protest.

'No, of course she doesn't. But she's lonely, and I
am
her only child. She ought not to be left alone too long, Doctor. We ... I mustn't be late back.'

'Rick, not Doctor!' he snapped. 'And I have already promised to return you safe and sound by one-thirty. Unharmed and untouched,' he added dryly, and her control snapped.

'There's no need to be so . . . so patronising!' she said tightly. 'I'm not a little girl!'

'Your mother treats you like one, though.' When she didn't reply, he snapped, 'Well, doesn't she? Answer me, Anna!'

'Yes, she does!' she said, then hastily averted her face so that he should not see the tears. They were tears of self-pity, she knew. Weeping because at twenty-one she was still treated like a child. Anna Curtis, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! she told herself silently.

'I thought we would take the coast road,' the registrar went on, his voice gentle now, but Anna wasn't deceived.

He had a diabolical temper and she wondered why she had ever believed him to be good-humoured.

Anxious to forestall any more questions about her mother, Anna began to talk about the hospital, but got only non-committal replies from Rick, sometimes a grunt, so she gave up. It was fine by her if he'd become bored by her conversation—and her company.

The sea was calm, a dark blue-grey, and Anna couldn't help making a comparison with the registrar's eyes. Stormy-grey, tranquil on the surface but with hidden, dangerous undercurrents.

They stopped for lunch just outside Southampton, at an impressive hotel. Anna felt her courage fail her—and her appetite left as well. It was just after twelve. She was one hour late for her assignation with Mike. What must he be thinking? That she'd been unable to escape from her mother and that she didn't love him enough to even try? He might be worried, thinking she'd had an accident. No, Mike never worried. It was alien to his nature.

Stern eyes focused on her, and Anna saw a muscle twitch at the corner of Rick's beautifully-shaped mouth. 'Your body appears to be here but where is the rest of you?' he asked bitterly.

Impulsively, Anna put her hand over his as they relaxed with their pre-lunch drinks, her big eyes begging him to understand. 'Please, R . . . Rick.' She blushed as she used his Christian name. 'Please . . . I'm sorry I'm not very good company. I have a lot on my mind.' She tried to send him a silent message, willing him to understand and make allowances but he seemed not to read what was in her eyes.

He moved his hand, and stared moodily into his Martini. Anna, feeling she'd been slapped, sat back in her chair, her eyes once more on the clock just behind Rick's head. Twelve-fifteen. What was Mike doing now?

She realised now that she didn't particularly want to spend the morning with Mike. Certainly she did not want to spend it in his arms. She wanted to be with Rick Alexandre. It was guilt that made her long for the outing to be over. She could not enjoy herself knowing that Mike was somewhere out there, waiting on a chilly street corner, waiting in vain for a girl who professed to love him.

'Have you time for lunch?' Rick asked, icily polite, and Anna clenched her fists under the table.

'You needn't be so hateful,' she muttered, knowing she deserved his contempt.

'Presumably you're anxious to return home, tail between legs like a naughty puppy, so I won't keep you long.' This cold voice wasn't coming from Rick surely?

Heartbroken, she assured him that she was looking forward to her lunch.

'Good. So am I.' His speech was clipped. 'The food will take my mind off the indifferent company!'

'Why, you . . . you . . .!' Anna's voice trailed off as she glared at him across the expanse of starched white tablecloth. 'That was uncalled for!'

'Was it?' he asked bitterly. He ordered for them both, after enquiring uninterestedly what she wanted. 'We had better make this a quick meal as my company is so boring,' he carried on conversationally. Anna's fingers closed around the handle of her knife.

'Are you usually violent?' He sounded interested, as he leaned forward. Anyone watching would have taken it for an intimate gesture as his strong hand closed over Anna's, prising the knife away.

Only Anna saw the storm signals in his eyes, knew that only the crowded restaurant was keeping him from dealing out swift retribution. That retribution would come, once they were alone, and her heart fluttered. It was half fear, half excitement. Rick was a dangerous man to cross, despite the pleasant exterior he presented to his senior colleagues.

The arrival of their soup precluded further thought, and Anna got through it as quickly as she could without appearing gluttonous. It was delicious mushroom soup, and to her surprise Anna found no difficulty in finishing it. But solid food was a different matter. Her mind was too active, her thoughts too overwrought for her to digest a meal, and she only picked at the main course,
Coq au Vin.
The chicken was tender but her poor brain couldn't send the right messages to her hands and she pushed it away after a few mouthfuls.

The pudding was more easily disposed of—a creamy meringue with fruit, and she managed to eat half. Her mouth was dry and she drank readily of the wine Rick put before her, only half aware that he merely sipped his and did not refill his glass.

'Not quite one o'clock,' he commented as they finished, but Anna already knew the time. Hadn't her frightened gaze been on the clock all the while they were eating?

'Quickest off-duty meal I've had for some time,' he went on, helping her into her coat. He led her out to the car and fastened her seat belt for her.

The big car moved out into the heavy traffic and she sat, head turned away from him. She couldn't look at him, she couldn't! What would he say to her, do to her? How angry he must be! All that money on a meal and she'd wasted half of it. And the wine she'd drunk! Registrars didn't earn all that much, she supposed. He must be infuriated because he had wasted his hard-earned cash on her.

Anna wasn't drunk but had imbibed enough to make her feel light-headed, not of this world. She would repay him. She had enough money with her. Indeed, she'd brought out quite a lot of money, believing she and the registrar would share the cost of the meal. Men did not, she felt sure, take girls to expensive hotels or restaurants without expecting something in return.

She could not give this man what she had intended giving Mike, but she could reimburse him. Still feeling light-headed and rather weary, Anna emptied out the contents of her red leather purse on to her lap and gazed at the coins in puzzlement. It wouldn't be any use giving him coins, would it? No. She shook her head and reached inside the wallet compartment. Ah, that was better. She extracted a five-pound note and examined it carefully. Yes, the metal strip was intact and the note wasn't torn. That should be enough for the hurried meal.

She could not remember how much wine she'd had. She recalled having her glass refilled at least once. Then there was the pre-lunch drink. Perhaps another pound? Feeling that it wasn't quite adequate but not wanting to ask him to change another five, she held out the money and smiled, hesitantly.

'Is that a tip, Anna?' he asked, his eyes going back to the road.

She looked down at the money and tried to remember what it was for. 'No, it's for the drink. Oh, and the chicken,' she finished, pleased that she had remembered.

Seeing that he was fully occupied with the lunch-time traffic, Anna carefully folded the notes several times and tucked them into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket.

'Thank you,' he said, pleasantly enough, and she sank back against the leather upholstery and closed her eyes. She had done her duty. Rick had been repaid. Now they could go home.

'Anna!' Roughly, she was shaken awake, and a strong light hurt her eyes.

She rubbed her eyes, then shook her head, trying to clear it, but the fuzziness persisted. 'Are we there?' she asked hesitantly, and the registrar grunted.

'I suppose that means yes,' she said irritably, as she uncurled herself from the front seat, and felt the doctor's hand on her arm as he urged her forward.

The bungalow swam before her eyes, and the fuzziness cleared. She didn't live in a bungalow!

She turned puzzled eyes on her companion. He still had an angry, set expression on his face, and she trembled. 'Where are we?' she asked hesitantly, afraid of sparking off another argument.

'This is my bungalow. I stay here when I'm off duty.'

'Oh! It's very nice,' she said cautiously. 'Can we go home now? Mother mustn't be alone too long.' She pulled back her sleeve so that she could see her wrist-watch. 'Rick! It's twenty past!'

'Is it?' He made a great show of consulting his leather-strapped watch. 'Yes, you're right. That gives us ten minutes then.'

He unlocked the front door and stood aside for her to enter. 'Ten minutes for what?' She clung to the car, unwilling to be forced into the bungalow.

'Ten minutes for me to extract a full confession from you!' he snapped, moving towards her. Nervously, she followed him inside.

'There! Make yourself at home, Anna!' He disappeared, and Anna gazed around. The fresh air had sobered her, but her head was splitting and she hoped Rick was providing strong coffee.

The sitting-room was small, much smaller than her own, but had a homely, lived-in air. The chintz settee on to which he'd deposited her was a big one and long enough for her to stretch out her aching legs. Idly her eyes took in the rest of the furniture as she waited for whatever the registrar had in mind.

There were two matching armchairs and she was almost sure that the armchair opposite had winked at her! Foolish girl. She sat up just as the coffee appeared. Rick had shed his jacket and she had a close view of a brown, polo-necked sweater and tight-fitting black trousers, as he placed the tray on the small table by the settee.

'That smells good,' she said meekly, as he handed her a cup.

He shot her a guarded gaze from under lowered brows. 'Not trying to escape then? We aren't far from the local police station. You could always sob out your story to the cops.'

'I'm glad you told me. I might just do that!' she snapped, all her new-found meekness dissolving. 'Mother will be crying very shortly. She always does when I'm late. But you don't care, do you?' she stormed, springing up and beginning to pace up and down in front of the imitation log-fire. 'It doesn't bother you that she's a sick woman and I'm all she has left!'

He shook his head, smiling a little, and she longed to wipe the smile off his face. 'You're old enough to take care of yourself. There's no need for your mother to worry about you. Certainly you're
big
enough to take care of yourself,' he added nastily, and Anna flushed.

'Anyone would think I was an Amazon!' she flared.

'They were even bigger, weren't they?' he asked, sounding genuinely interested, and Anna bit her tongue, trying not to retaliate.

'I'm five feet eight,' she said at last. 'I weigh nine stone and I take size five and a half in shoes. My statistics are thirty-eight, twenty-four, thirty-seven. I'm not
that
large!'

'Surely you're more than thirty-eight?' Lazily he smiled up at her. 'Around the breasts, I mean. When I did a mental estimate of your vital statistics, I thought about forty inches,' he said, conversationally.

Anna was speechless, and he chuckled. 'I won't bore you with my measurements. I know you aren't interested. Meeting Mike, were you?' he asked, in the same tone, and Anna almost fell into the trap.

'Mike? Oh, you mean my . . . my friend?'

'Yes, that's the one. Drink your coffee, dear,' he urged, his eyes never once leaving hers.

Frightened at his sudden change of mood, Anna gulped down the coffee, still standing by the fire. There was no escape. But what did he know about Mike?

'What time were you due to meet him?'

Innocently she smiled over at him. 'Who?'

'You kept glancing at your watch. I assumed you had a previous engagement,' he said levelly, but Anna shook her head.

'I was worried—about leaving Mother so long, I mean,' she assured him.

'Don't give me that!' All of a sudden he was beside her, his strong fingers gripping her wrist. 'How many men are you dangling on a string?'

'None! Let me go!' Try as she might, she was unable to prise her wrist free. 'You're hurting me, Rick!'

'That's too bad. I want to hear about this Mike. Is he the one with the permed hair?'

'It is
not
permed! It's naturally curly. His hair grows that way!'

'Oh, run your fingers through it, do you? Why not try mine. It's naturally straight!' He pushed her on to one of the armchairs then sat on the arm, his body pinning her to the chair. 'Go on. Run your fingers through mine. It's free!' he invited, and Anna recoiled.

Enraged, Rick forced her fingers through his hair. The moment she felt its springiness, its texture, Anna groaned. Of their own volition her fingers carried on caressing his dark head, marvelling at the emotion such a simple act could arouse. Her index fingers caressed the nape of his neck without any directive from her, and it was Rick's turn to groan.

She found herself on his lap, with his lean face only inches from her own. Daringly, she reached up and ran her fingertips over his eyes, down his straight nose, across his sensuous mouth . . .

When his lips met hers, she offered no resistance, made no demur. This was what she had wanted from the moment they met. No wonder she had been reluctant to let Mike touch her, frightened at the idea of belonging to him. She wanted to belong to Rick Alexandre and to no other.