by Anne Mather
She sighed and realized Mrs. Macpherson was still in the room. 'Where will you take your coffee, Mrs. Hunter?' she asked, gathering the dirty plates on to a tray.
Julie shrugged. 'I don't want a,ny more coffee, thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. I - er - I'll help myself to a drink in the living-room, if I want one.'
The housekeeper didn't look altogether approving. Well, if you're sure, Mrs. Hunter...'
'I am. The meal was delicious, thank you, and I did enjoy it. But I really don't want anything else.' ; 'Very well, Mrs. Hunter.' The housekeeper walked towards the door. 'When would you like me to show you over the castle?'
Julie forced a tolerance she was far from feeling. 'Not - not today, I don't think, Mrs. Macpherson.'
The housekeeper said nothing more and Julie felt an unwarranted sense of guilt. But why should she feel guilty? she asked herself impatiently. She had done nothing wrong.
She walked back to the tower hallway, but instead of entering the living-room she looked at the door which Jonas had told her led into his study. His private sanctum was no concern of hers, but he had left her here, and she was entitled to investigate if she those to do so. Besides, she might even find some clue as to his intentions. On impulse, she turned the handle and opened the door.
The study was of a similar shape and size to the room next door, but it was less comfortably furnished. There were steel filing cabinets and a huge bookcase filled with reference books, while a massive mahogany desk with a leather surface occupied the centre of the plain rusty coloured carpet. A typewriter was standing on the desk, and there were papers and carbons strewn everywhere.
Julie hesitated only a moment and then stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
She walked slowly across the carpet, inhaling the aroma of the small cigars Jonas smoked Which lingered in the room. There was no fire in here and the air was distinctly chilly. She stopped by the desk and looked through some papers occupying a wire tray. They were mostly invoices and bills and receipts for accounts settled. A feeling of distaste swept over her, and she had to force herself to walk round the desk and sit down in Jonas's chair. It was made of black leather and swivelled on a single steel pivot. She rode round in it determinedly, then stopped as the feeling of trespass strengthened. No matter how outrageously Jonas was behaving, she had no right to be in here, disturbing his private papers.
Thrusting such discomfiting thoughts aside, she deliberately opened the drawer at the top left-hand side of the desk. Inside were more papers and files of newspaper cuttings, and she closed the drawer again quickly. It was no use. It was not in her nature to pry. Instead, she got to her feet and walked across to the narrow window and peered out.
It was getting dark already, the encroaching gloom of a late autumn day, the sky artificially darkened by the storm. It was still raining and the mainland across the water seemed Shrouded in mist. It was impossible to contemplate leaving here alone. She was not used to handling boats, and the possibility that she might get into difficulties and end up in those icy depths filled her with despair.
She turned back angrily, feeding her sense of indignation. Jonas had brought her here and deliberately abandoned her. He might stay away for days and if this weather continued, what could she do about it? Panic
rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. What had she to panic about? At least she was dry and warm and well cared for, physically if not mentally. 'She tried to think positively. How long would Mark give her before he became suspicious of her absence? One week? Two? She chewed on her lower lip. And what , about her mother, and Angela? Would they become con- cerned if she didn't return in the stipulated few days? She shook her head. Everyone was so far away. And of course, that had been Jonas's intention, too. ' She walked back to the desk. She was tempted to take his files and tear them to shreds, anything to release the burning sense of resentment inside her. But her own innate feeling for writing of any kind prevented her from doing something so destructive.
She pulled open the drawer at the opposite side of the desk from the one she had opened earlier. There were papers in here, too, but resting on top of them was a leather-bound diary.
Her fingers ran lightly over the tooled leather, tracing the embossed identification. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship and she wanted to hold it. She lifted it carefully from its resting place and turned it over in her hands. Then she frowned. She had never known Jonas to keep a diary. Notes, yes, but a diary, no. It was too damning a piece of evidence for a newspaper correspondent.
The cover opened and she read the inscription on the front page with a mingled feeling of distaste and self- disgust. It was hard to discern the words in the half light, but she managed it: To my darling Jonas from your favourite confidante. Use it, I dare you!
Julie felt a knife-like pain turning in her stomach. So he hadn't changed. Not at all. She was a fool if she had thought he might. He was still getting expensive presents from grateful women. Her lips twisted. And why not? she asked herself bitterly. He had always been attractive to women, he always would be. It was not something he consciously cultivated, it was just there. Wherever he went, women fell over themselves to get near him, to talk to him, to flirt with him, to show him in every possible way that so far as they were concerned he had only to lift one little finger ...
She thrust the book back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Oh, God, she thought sickly, what was happening to her? How could she probe through his desk like this? What was she becoming? A malicious, bitter woman without either self-control or self-respect.
A knock at the study door made her rigid. 'Y-yes?' she called.
Nothing happened and she realized whoever it was they couldn't hear her. 'Yes?' she called, louder this time and the door opened.
'Oh, you are in here, Mrs. Hunter.' It was Mrs. Macpherson again and Julie was glad of the gloom to hide her embarrassment.
'Yes, Mrs. Macpherson?'
'I - I wondered if you'd like some afternoon tea, madam.'
Julie took a step forward. She sensed the housekeeper's discomfort was as great as hers. 'I think that would be very nice, Mrs. Macpherson,' she agreed. 'I - I'll have it in the living-room if that's all right.'
Mrs Macpherson looked relieved. 'Perfectly, madam. I've lit the lamps in there and I'm sure you'll find it much warmer. It's chilly in here. I'd have had Rob light the fire if I'd thought-'
'That's all right, Mrs. Macpherson.' Julie rubbed her hands together, realizing how cold she had become. 'I'll come through now.'
The afternoon was drawing to a close and after swallowing two cups of tea and one of the hot, buttered scones Mrs. Macpherson had made, Julie went to stare out of the window again. It was impossible to see anything now. Darkness had fallen, and the wind and rain were still lashing about the castle's sturdy walls. For the first time she felt a twinge of concern for Jonas if he intended returning in this weather. A boat could overturn and be lost and no one would know anything about it until it was too late ...
She drew an unsteady breath and turned to look at the room. She would not worry about him! He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Or what was it they said - the devil takes care of his own? All the same...
She couldn't remain in this room doing nothing any longer. She opened the door and went out into the hall. It was much cooler out here and with a sense of despair she mounted the stairs to her room. The gallery was dark and shadowy, and she hurried along it to her bedroom wondering whether she would sleep so soundly tonight if she did not have the comforting thought of Jonas sleeping not too far away. The Macphersons didn't appear to occupy this part of the castle at all and it was rather daunting to consider the thickness of the walls and the lack of penetration any scream she made might make.
But why should she scream? she asked herself impatiently, entering the bedroom. She wasn't afraid of ghosts and no unwelcome intruders could scale these walls.
The fire had been lighted and the lamps, too, turned low as on the nig
ht before. She closed the door and looked round miserably. It was hard to remember that less than
forty-eight hours ago she had still been in London.
She decided to have a bath to fill in some time and was relieved to find that the water was hot and plentiful. There were bath salts on a glass shelf above the bath and she sprinkled them liberally, sinking into the scented depths with genuine enjoyment.
She must have lain there for the best part of three- quarters of an hour before she summoned the energy to wash herself. Then she emerged and dried herself with the huge fluffy bath sheet, going into her bedroom and standing before the fire, allowing the flames to lick over her soft skin.
Draping the towel sarongwise about her, she put a thoughtful finger to her lips. What was she going to wear this evening? The slack suit she had worn all day - or something more feminine?
She flung open the wardrobe doors and looked impatiently at the garments hanging there. The colours attracted her and with reluctance she pulled out a woollen hostess gown with a high neck tied with a cord and loose flowing lines. It was made of soft lambswool in colours shaded from palest lilac to deep purple and navy. Like the slack suit, it fitted her beautifully, the loose lines concealing her slenderness, hinting at the gentle contours of her figure.
She studied her reflection without pleasure. She still felt resentful at having to wear someone else's clothes, but the gown was so obviously unworn that she did not have the distasteful thought of it covering some other woman's body.
However, seeing the clothes again had renewed her anger against Jonas, and she tugged the. brush viciously through her hair, almost enjoying the pain she was inflicting upon herself. She didn't bother to try and ar- range her hair in any particular style. She was practically convinced that Jonas did not intend coming back this evening, and no one else was likely to pay her a call.
A sound on the gallery outside her room caused a prickle of alarm to feather along her spine. It had sounded like a footstep and she waited breathlessly for someone to knock at the door. But no knock came, instead the door was propelled inward with deliberate slowness.
She caught her breath and was standing as motionless as a statue when a dark figure appeared in the aperture. A faint cry escaped her as for a moment she thought she was seeing an apparition from the past, a tall lean apparition wearing the velvet jacket, frilled shirt and swinging kilt of his ancestors. Coherency was difficult, but she managed to say in a stifled voice: 'Oh, God, Jonas - you - you terrified me!'
CHAPTER FOUR
JONAS stepped indolently into the room and closed the door, looking about him with casual interest before concentrating his attention on Julie. In the formal Highland dress he looked every inch a Scottish baron and she found her senses responding unwillingly to his disturbing masculinity.
But then anger came to her rescue, and she exclaimed: 'Just what game do you think you're playing, Jonas?'
He looked at her, his eyes dropping insolently down the length of her body. 'Am I playing a game?' he asked mockingly.
'That's what I want to know.' Julie put a hand to her throat. 'Jonas - Jonas, you had no right to leave me here alone all day!'
His eyes were darkly amused. 'I'm sorry.' He walked across to the hearth, his kilt swinging about his strong legs. He turned to face her. 'I didn't realize you desired my company so urgently.'
'Jonas, stop this!' Julie took a deep breath. 'You know what I mean. You're deliberately misunderstanding me.'
'I'm delighted that you look more like my wife this evening,' he commented, ignoring her protests. 'Don't you think I have very good taste?'
'You - chose - this?' She stared at him in dismay.
'Yes.' Jonas tucked his thumbs into the pocket of his black velvet jacket. 'Don't your like it? You should. It suits you.'
Julie looked at him through a mist of anger and dis-
gust. 'You're despicable, do you know that?' she stormed violently. 'How can you stand there and tell me—'
'Cool it, Julie!'
'No, I will not cool it! Boasting to me about buying clothes for your - your mistressl You're disgusting! How many have there been now, Jonas? Anyone else I know?'
Jonas's mouth turned down at the comers. 'Why do you ask that?'
Julie's brows quirked. 'You know why. Don't tell me you're still going to deny it.'
His lip curled. 'I wouldn't attempt to do so.'
'That's just as well, because you'd be wasting your time. And what about your favourite confidante?'
Jonas's jaw was taut. 'What do you mean?'
'Surely you know. Surely you recognize the phrase.' Julie plucked at the folds of her gown. 'It's as good a description as any, I suppose. Who is she, Jonas - darling Jonas?'
'Have you been in my study?'
If she had not been so incensed, Julie might have detected the sudden grimness of his tones. 'What if I have?' she taunted. 'What are you going to do about it? Why shouldn't I poke around? You do it all the time, don't you - darling?'
Jonas's features were set. 'You have no right to go into my study—'
"No right?' Julie gave a scornful laugh. 'Oh, really, you're a great one to talk about rights, aren't you? Bringing me here - taking my clothes - forcing me to stay when you knew I wanted to go!'
'I needed to talk to you,' he muttered, in a curiously strained tone.
'Did you?' Julie grimaced. 'Well, you have a peculiar
way of behaving for some one who wants to talk. Disappearing all day - deliberately staying out of sight until it was too late for me to get back to Inverness—'
'You don't understand.'
'No, I don't-'
'The outboard motor failed—'
'Oh, honestly, Jonas, can't you do better than that?' Julie was past being reasonable. 'I'd have invited a cloudburst, at least!'
'It's the truth!' His voice should have warned her that he was nearing the end of his tether.
'What do you know of the truth? You're so used to telling lies, I doubt whether you'd know the truth if you heard it!'
'Julie, I warn you—''
'You - warn - me?' she gasped. 7 warn you , Jonas, I'm leaving in the morning, interview or no interview. I shall tell Mark that your only motives for bringing me here were to hurt and humiliate me!'
'For God's sake, Julie, listen to me—'
'I don't want to listen to you.' She caught her breath on a sob. She mustn't break down now. Not when she was winning. 'I just want you to get out of here. You can tell Mrs. Macpherson I don't want any dinner—'
Jonas's hands withdrew from his pockets, balled into fists. 'That is enough, Julie,' he said, his eyes glittering strangely. 'You have made it clear that whatever I say - whatever justification I offer - will be met with the same response.'
'What did you expect?' Julie's mouth worked tremulously. 'Oh, go away, Jonas, I don't want to talk to you any more.'
She turned her back on him, her breathing ragged. She could feel the pricking of tears behind her eyes and she
thought that after he had gone she would not be able to resist giving in to them. It was foolish and stupid and totally unnecessary, but she couldn't help it. Jonas had always had this devastating effect on her emotions.
She waited for him to leave with growing unease. She couldn't remain composed for much longer, and it would be complete ignominy to break down there in front of him. How he would enjoy that, how it would amuse him to relate this scene to someone else, some other woman ...
She heard him cross the floor and a little of the tension went out of her. But he didn't get to the door, and a few moments later she felt his breath fanning the back of her neck. She could smell the faint aroma of whisky, too, that warned her he had been drinking.
She stiffened, a terrifying feeling of helplessness sweeping over her. But no, she told herself weakly, Jonas wasn't like that, he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. But he had, a small voice inside her insisted. He had been unfaithful to her with her best friend! What great
er humiliation could there be? How could she expect any mercy at his hands?
When his hands descended on her shoulders, she struggled like a wild thing, getting away from him and putting the width of the bed between them. He had shed his velvet jacket and the frilled white shirt threw his tanned face into more prominence, darkening his skin and hardening his eyes. His eyes frightened her. They were completely cold, ruthless and utterly determined. He stood facing her, leant slightly forward, his hands resting on the quilt at his side of the bed.
'I -1 - I'll - sc-scream!' she stammered.
'Go ahead. The walls are thick. They can stand it.'
'Wh-what do you think - you - you're doing?'
'Grow up, Julie!' 'You won't get away with it.'
'Won't I? Who's going to stop me? Not Mummy - or dear friend Angela!'
'I - I'll never forgive you—'
'You won't anyway.' His lips twisted. 'You've already told me you're leaving in the morning.'
Julie licked her dry lips. 'I - I won't. I'll stay—'
'Don't make a fool of yourself, Julie. You can't escape me. It's stupid to try.'
Julie measured the distance between where she stood and the door. He was nearer. What possible chance did she have of reaching the door, opening it, and getting away before he caught her. And this long dress - it could only be a hindrance. Again she blamed him for taking away her clothes. In her suit she might have had half a chance.
'Don't do it, Julie.'
It was almost as though he could read her panic- stricken thoughts and she could feel her heart hammering sickeningly against her ribs. She saw him lift his foot to the bed and realized he intended to vault across it to reach her. She turned and ran wildly for the door, a little bubbling gasp rising in her throat. The long dress was more than a hindrance - it tripped her, and she sprawled at his feet, helplessly groping for the door as he came round the bed and stood over her.
She lay there, sobbing as much with frustration as fear, but when he came down beside her, imprisoning her hands with one of his and encircling her throat with the other, real terror gripped her. His hand gathered up the cord of her gown and pulled it tightly until it was cutting into the soft skin of her neck.
