Dark Castle

by Anne Mather

  When the key had been turned and the bolt fastened, she went down to the gallery again. The fire burning in her bedroom was very welcome and not until she had toasted herself for several minutes did she stop shivering. Even so, she had to admit, the castle was a fascinating old place, and in other circumstances she would have enjoyed studying its history. It was always amazing to consider how long these primitively designed structures had stood up to the force of the elements, and she wondered with a morbid curiosity whether its history contained any records of anyone throwing themselves from the battlements on to the jagged rocks below.

  She pushed such unpleasant thoughts aside and determinedly picked up her briefcase. She extracted the file on Jonas and flicking it open tried to summon enthusiasm for her task. The queries she had penned mocked her. She was no nearer having them answered now than when she arrived.

  Putting the file aside, she went over to her suitcase and opened it. The few things she had brought were soon packed, leaving only her night things and toiletries to be added in the morning. She felt better after that. She had made some move towards leaving and she felt less frustrated at her enforced delay. Only her blouse and suit remained to be returned to her, and as she would be wearing them when she left...

  She straightened and looked towards the wardrobe that contained all those clothes. On impulse, she opened the wardrobe door and ran her fingers lightly over the soft materials. Silks, chiffons, jerseys - who did they belong to? Such brilliant colours, such beautiful garments. Who had Jonas had in mind when he bought them? Not her, surely? And yet the more she thought about it, the more doubtful she became. Why else were they here? He couldn't have done it to humiliate her, not when he had introduced her to the Macphersons as his wife, when he had gone out of his way to convince them that they were a happily married couple. And if the Macphersons were scandalized at the idea of divorce, he would hardly be likely to bring some other woman here to stay with him, would he?

  ' She closed the door again and looked down at the green corded pants she was wearing. They did fit her, and the fact that they were a little loose pointed to the fact of his remembering her as she had been before . . . before . . .

  She drew a trembling breath. No! It couldn't be true. He couldn't have bought these things with the intention of luring her here and keeping her, could he? How did he propose to accomplish such a thing? If that had been his intention, how were the Macphersons expected to react?

  She licked dry lips. Calm down, she told herself, for the umpteenth time since she had arrived. You're jumping to conclusions! But they were not unreasonable conclusions, she argued urgently. And she had been here three days

  already!

  She paced uneasily about the bedroom. What if she was right? What if everything she had supposed was true? He was a clever man, she had never doubted that. He was not likely to choose some violent method to keep her here. It was much more characteristic that he should detain her on a voluntary basis. Like the injury to his hand, for example. He had not asked her to drive him to Newton Carn, he was too clever for that. She had offered - as he had gambled she would! And if tomorrow his hand was still causing him pain, might she feel obliged to stay a few more days?

  Anxiety gave way to anger. What were his plans? What were his ultimate intentions? Why had he brought her here? To arouse her sympathy? Her compassion? To weaken her resistance against him? And if so, why? Why should he want that - why should he want her, in any capacity? Because she had walked out on him. Because she had refused to be placated by his facile explanations? Had that piqued him? That she should walk out on him? Before he was ready to walk out on her? He had always been attractive to women, she had accepted that. Was his ego such that he needed to satisfy himself that he could make a slave of her again before abandoning her?

  Her fists clenched and unclenched and then clenched again. There had to be some truth there somewhere. And she was making it so easy for him! That was the galling part. That was what brought the bitter bile of resentment to her throat. She ignored the ache her suspicions aroused in her heart and hardened her resolve. How could she have been such a fool? He might almost have succeeded in duping her again. But this time he had been just a little too clever!

  The darkening skies brought her to awareness of the

  lateness of the hour. It was after four o'clock and although the firelit room was attractive it was also eerily | remote, and in Julie's morose frame of mind she needed lights and activity. Collecting her briefcase, she left the I room and went along the gallery and down the spiral staircase. She would speak to Jonas now, this minute, she would tell him she was leaving first thing in the morning and if he refused her the interview, then that was just too bad.

  She opened the living-room door without ceremony and then halted, her determination momentarily failing. Jonas was stretched out on the couch, the glow from the ' fading fire illuminating the darkness of his lashes resting I against his cheekbones, the hollows below and the softened curve of his thin mouth. One arm was supporting I his head while his injured hand lay limply against his thigh.

  Julie stared at him impatiently. Was he really asleep or had he heard her opening the door and feigned unconsciousness? She couldn't be sure and in her mood she decided she didn't much care. Either way, she was determined to arouse him, and she entered the room and closed the door with a heavy thud.

  Jonas's eyes flickered open at once. A frown drew his brows together and he blinked and propped himself up on one elbow, staring at her almost blankly. If he hadn't been asleep he was certainly making damn good pretence of it, thought Julie uncharitably, and she moved out of the shadows saying: 'If you'll tell me how, I'll light the lamps.'

  Jonas expelled his breath on a sigh and slumped back on the couch. 'Use a taper. Turn on the gas tap and hold the taper to the top of the mantel. It will ignite almost immediately.'

  Julie reached for a taper and followed his directions. She lighted all the lamps around the walls so that the room was soon quite brightly illuminated. Then she threw the used taper into the fire and turned to the couch, a resolute expression on her face.

  'I hate to bring this up,' she began, not without some sarcasm, 'but we do have an interview to conduct. If you feel up to it, I'd like to get on with it right away.'

  Jonas swung his legs to the floor and ran a hand round the back of his neck, flexing his stiff muscles. 'I need a drink,' he said, not answering her. 'Have you had lunch?'

  'Have I had lunch?' Julie stifled an angry retort. 'Of course, I've had lunch. It's nearly half past four.'

  'Is it?' He glanced halfheartedly at his watch. 'Hmm, so it is. I must have slept for quite a while.'

  'You have.' Julie controlled her temper with difficulty. 'You were tired.'

  He nodded, the dark eyes steadily gaining in penetration. 'What have you been doing? Going through the papers in my study?'

  'No!' Julie was indignant, but her cheeks flushed. 'I've been upstairs. In my room.'

  He yawned and gave an apologetic shake of his head. 'Hmm, well - I'm hungry.' He looked up at her. 'Ask Mrs. Macpherson to make me a sandwich, would you, Julie?'

  'Ask her yourself!' Julie's mouth was mutinous. 'I'm not your servant!'

  His eyes widened. 'I see.' They narrowed. 'What is it, Julie? What am I supposed to have done now?'

  'What haven't you done?' Julie was finding it extremely hard not to become emotional over this. 'Look, Jonas, I've been thinking—'

  'Ah, so that's it!'

  His voice was mocking and she longed to be able to hurt him as he had hurt her/ 'As I said,' she continued tautly, 'I've been thinking, and I've come to the conclusion that your intention all along has been to keep me here.'

  'Oh, really?' Jonas stretched his long legs in front of him. 'Why should I want to do that?'

  'I -1 don't really know,' Julie sighed.

  'You didn't have to come,' he pointed out dryly.

  'No - no, I know that. But you must have known I would.'
/>   'Did I?'

  'You said you knew Mark Bernstein.'

  'I know of him.'

  'All right, then. You must have known he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to interview the man whose book is presently topping the best-seller lists both here and in the United States!'

  'I thought it would interest him.'

  Julie opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again as what he had said registered. 'You thought it would interest him,' she echoed disbelievingly. 'You mean - you mean - you offered him the interview?'

  Jonas's eyes were disturbingly intent. 'I offered it to you, Julie.'

  'Then - then it was you who told Mark of our relationship, that I was still your wife?' She could scarcely believe it.

  'That's right. Well, you are, aren't you?'

  'Technically, perhaps.' Julie licked dry lips. 'But not for much longer. I want a divorce, Jonas.'

  'Do you?'

  'Yes.' She brushed a dazed hand across her forehead.

  'Jonas - why? Why? Why did you bring me here?'

  'I should have thought you'd have figured that out too. I wanted to talk to you - to explain—'

  'Oh, no!' Julie moved her head helplessly from side to side. 'I don't want to hear any more explanations—'

  'Nevertheless, you are going to.' Jonas rose to his feet and she unconsciously moved back from him. 'In the beginning I was too sick with the whole filthy business to care one way or the other. But in South America I had plenty of time to think, and when I got back from there and found that you and Angela had set up house together—' He broke off, his expression grim. 'Julie, listen to me! I did not - ever - make love to Angela or any other woman after we were married!'

  Julie flinched. 'Please, Jonas, don't bring that up again! I - I've told you - it's over, finished! I don't want to talk about it.'

  'Damn you, don't you?' His hand shot out, encircling her upper arm, drawing her closer to him so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead. 'But I do. Surely I have the right to a hearing.'

  Julie's breathing felt constricted and she was supremely conscious of the cruelty of those fingers encircling her arm. 'Jonas, nothing you can say can alter the fact that Angela slept at the apartment!'

  'I don't deny that.'

  'And that - and that she was - in our bed—'

  'Yes, but I was not!' he snapped harshly.

  'You had been.'

  'That's Angela's story.'

  'Oh, Jonas!' Julie felt the familiar feeling of sickness she always felt whenever she considered the intimate aspects of the affair. 'Jonas, don't - please bring that all up again. I -I can't stand it.'

  Jonas's mouth was hard. 'I have had to stand it for over two years, Julie.'

  'You - you shouldn't have - have done - what you did.'

  'God help me, I didn't do anything!' He raked his bandaged hand over his thick hair. 'God, why won't you believe me? Why do you persist in believing Angela's story? Can't you see it was a fabrication? Haven't you the sense to realize she was always jealous of us?'

  Julie stood with her head bent, waiting for him to release her. She felt sick and empty, filled with dread and despair. She had known that sooner or later it would come to this, but she still wasn't prepared for the agony of it all.

  With an ugly imprecation Jonas released her, pushing her aside so roughly that she almost fell. 'All right,' he muttered coldly, 'so whatever I say you won't believe me, is that it?'

  'Jonas,' she began, choosing her words with care, 'Jonas, I didn't come here for personal reasons. You know that. What's between us - well, it's useless trying to take up old grievances. We - we each have our own lives now. You can't deny you've achieved more success since we split up than ever you did when we were living together.'

  'I had other - distractions then,' he said bleakly. 'Work was not the whole of my existence as it is now.'

  'Oh, Jonas, I can't believe you devote the whole of your time to your work,' she exclaimed, trying to introduce a lighter note. 'I - I mean, you have friends. Both male and female.'

  'Yes?' His lips twisted. 'That's what you think, is it? Does it help to salve your conscience?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, it was pretty easy to shrug me off, wasn't it?' 'Shrug you off—?'

  'Yes. Pretty easy to pretend disbelief of anything I said because it suited you to do so.'

  'That's not true, Jonas.' Julie's face was strained now. 'Oh, God, all right — all right, let's discuss it. Let's go through all the sordid details. Let me think now - how did it happen? I'd been away, hadn't I? I was working on that story for the Herald and I had had to go up to Lincolnshire, hadn't I? I was away overnight and wasn't expected back until later in the day. But the job folded and I got back soon after seven a.m. And what did I find? Surprise, surprise! My husband shaving in the bathroom and my best friend naked in our bed!' Her voice almost broke, but she controlled it. 'Now - now, I was generous and asked what was going on. What could be going on? Angela's apartment was only about a mile away across town, so she could hardly have found it impossible to get home, could she? So what other reason could there be for her staying there—'

  'I told you, Julie. She came to the apartment stoned out of her mind!'

  Julie's eyes flashed. 'Angela doesn't get drunk!' 'She did that night. To give her courage, perhaps?' 'Jonas, stop it! You know you're lying. Angela told me what happened. God, how she told me! Rushing out of bed to me, begging me to forgive her, imploring me to believe that she hadn't been to blame, that you'd taken her to dinner and given her so much to drink that she didn't know what she was doing—'

  'For God's sake, I did not take Angela to dinner!' he bit out, through his teeth. 'Why the hell should I take that bitch to dinner? You know I never liked her—' 'You mean she didn't like you.'

  'Angela doesn't like you, or hadn't you realized?'

  Julie gasped. 'That's a foul thing to say!'

  'This is a foul business. Aren't I allowed to defend myself?'

  'Oh, Jonas, please, must we go on?'

  'Yes, we must.' His jaw was taut. 'You wouldn't listen to reason then, but by God! you're going to listen to reason now.'

  'Your reason.'

  'Yes, my reason.' Jonas raked his fingers through his hair. 'Julie, when I opened the apartment door and found Angela almost collapsing on the step, what was I supposed to do? Shove her away and leave her to any possible fate which might befall her? She was your friend - or so I thought. I knew what you would have done in the same circumstances, and I did it. I brought her in, I gave her black coffee, and when she passed out I laid her on our bed. God help me, Julie, that's all I did. I didn't take her clothes off, I didn't go to bed with her, and I sure as hell didn't make love to her!'

  Julie's head was throbbing. She had heard Jonas's story before, but she still could not accept it. It was so unlikely. Angela was simply not that kind of girl. All right, she accepted to some extent that Angela distrusted men, but that was easily explained. Her father had run off with a girl very much younger than her mother when she was still at school and she had never forgiven him for that. But Julie had never known her drink a lot and to imagine her getting drunk and going to the apartment when she knew Julie was away seemed totally unacceptable. And then to pretend that Jonas had taken advantage of her? Oh, no, that was going much too far. Who did Jonas think he was fooling? Himself, possibly? But Angela was attractive to men, and considering the reputation he had

  had before their marriage...

  'Jonas, this is useless, can't you see? We're just going round and round in circles.' She drew an unsteady breath. 'I'm leaving in the morning, interview or no interview. I shall tell Mark exactly what has happened and I shall hope he believes me. If not, I don't expect I'll find it too difficult to get another job.'

  Jonas walked across to the cabinet and poured himself a stiff Scotch. He threw the raw liquid to the back of his throat and then turned, leaning against the wall. 'All right, Julie,' he said, and there
was a disturbingly defeated look in his eyes which unwillingly tore at her heart. 'Ask your questions. Don't be shy. I'd hate to be responsible for you losing your job as well as everything else.'

  'But - but you haven't eaten—'

  'I'm not hungry.' He poured another Scotch. 'Don't trouble yourself about me, Julie. I can do without your kind of sympathy.'

  It was much later that evening that Julie sat beside the fire in her bedroom, looking through the sheaf of shorthand notes she had taken during her interview with Jonas. She was curiously loath to translate them into longhand. She had her own peculiar style of shorthand and so long as they remained only symbols on a scrap of paper only she could read them. She sighed. It had been the worst evening she had spent since she came here, although in fact it had been the quietest. Perhaps that was what had got through to her. The impersonality Jonas had so effectively generated after their confrontation. She thrust the papers aside and lay back in her chair. What was the matter with her? She had been angry and resentful at his attempts to create some kind of relationship between them, but now that he had abandoned any effort to be friendly she found she felt curiously drained. He had behaved like a stranger at dinner, and she had been chilled to the core of her being.

  She rose from the chair and shedding her robe she turned out the lamps and climbed into the huge bed. The fire was dying, but it still cast a shadowy light over the room. She lay staring up at the carved ceiling. This was the last night she would spend in this bed, she thought, and wondered why the knowledge did not fill her with elation. She was leaving in the morning, that was definite now, so why did she feel this underlying sense of despair?

  For the very first time since that terrible morning when she had returned to the apartment and found Angela there she allowed an element of doubt to enter her brain. What if - what if there was some truth in what Jonas said? What if each of their stories, Jonas's and Angela's, had an element of truth in them? What if Jonas had taken Angela to dinner, what if she had drunk too much and he had had to bring her back to the apartment? What if Angela had misconstrued his attentions?