Dangerous Encounter

by Flora Kidd

  'I wouldn't have blabbed,' Helen retorted, her head going up. She looked at him disdainfully from under her lashes. 'I never blab. Anyway, why would I want to tell anyone about spending a weekend with you?' she continued scornfully. 'What's so wonderful about spending three days on a remote island with a man you can't be sure of and who's pretending all the time? Oh, I wouldn't have told anyone about you or about being here with you, you can be sure of that. You and being with you are nothing to write home about,' she finished bitingly.

  There was a tense little silence as they glared at each other across the space which separated them, then Magnus laughed heartily, his head going back, his teeth flashing. Still chuckling, he came towards the bed and sat down again. Leaning towards her, he took hold of both her hands in his, and immediately she was aware of his warmth and strength, of the exciting male scents of his skin and hair.

  'You're very good for me, Eilidh,' he said softly. 'You know just how to prick the oversized balloon of my ego.'

  'Is it oversized, your ego?' she murmured, suddenly shy again, avoiding the dense blueness of his eyes, looking down at their joined hands.

  'Oh, yes. It always has been. Ask anyone who knows me well. Ask Wanda. Ask Blair. Ask my mother,' he said, the bitterness back in his voice. 'All right, so I accept what you say, that you wouldn't have talked indiscreetly about being here with me, but I still wish you hadn't been seen here with me by Max Fiedler.'

  She glanced up at him. He was frowning and still looking at her, and once again she had the feeling that he was a friend, a friend who cared about her. In the next instant she was rejecting the feeling, reminding herself that he could be acting.

  She withdrew her hands from his, not because she didn't like having hers held by that vital grasp, but because she felt safer when he wasn't touching her, more in control of her feelings.

  'Why?' she asked coolly, 'Did he say something to you about me being here?'

  'Oh yes, he said a lot—too darn much, and none of it suitable for your ears,' Magnus remarked tautly. He looked right at her, the expression in his eyes frank and steady. 'He assumes you're my latest mistress.'

  'Oh!' gasped Helen weakly, and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, her eyelids drooping down quickly to hide her eyes from his direct searching stare, trying to hide from him the sudden turbulence which swirled through her at the thought of being his mistress. 'Am I?' she asked cautiously, giving him a wary look from under her lashes.

  'I think you'll agree we hadn't got as far as establishing any relationship between us, before Max arrived,' he said, still dry. 'But just finding you here, dressed in my robe, was enough for him and nothing I could say would change his mind.'

  'But does it matter what he thinks,' said Helen, 'if we both know it isn't true?'

  'I'm afraid it does. You see, he isn't above using what he saw here for publicity purposes when he announces to the press that he's producing a new film with Rossi directing.' Magnus laughed a little drearily this time, half turning away from her to hold his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knee. 'In fact he told me exactly what would be in the press release,' he told her.

  'Then please will you tell me?' she whispered.

  'Why do you want to know?' he asked.

  'So that I can determine whether it's really harmful to me.'

  'All right. The announcement will of course mention the names of the leading actors in the film, in this case Marta Nielsen and myself. Under both our names there will be a short resume of our careers to date, what films we've been seen in, and as always there will be something personal—the public who read about such things are always interested in the personal life of actresses and actors, unfortunately,' he said bitterly. 'Marta's two disastrous marriages will be mentioned, as will the name of her latest lover, who happens to be Bill Constantine, the cameraman who works for Fiedler Productions.' His lips twisted in self-mockery. 'And about me,' he continued, 'there will be a reference to my various affairs with different actresses and a mention of the fact that I've recently been staying in a castle on the west coast of Scotland with a female companion called Helen.'

  'That's all?' she whispered.

  'Isn't it enough?'

  'But who will know it's me if my last name isn't .mentioned?' she queried.

  'Blair will know,' he said quietly, looking at her steadily. 'Wanda will know. And you can be sure neither of them will keep the information to themselves.'

  She stared at him in puzzlement, absorbing what he had said and trying to make sense of it.

  'You mean… that you didn't tell Wanda that you would kidnap… I mean entice me to come here?' she queried.

  'No. I just said when she asked me if I could think up a way of preventing you and Blair from going away together this weekend that I'd see what I could do.' He paused again and frowned at the floor. 'You see, Eilidh, we thought, Wanda and I—we thought you'd be different from what you are.'

  'Oh, what did you think I'd be like?' she asked in surprise.

  'We thought you'd be a hard-faced sex kitten on the make, looking forward to having a flighty weekend in the country with a man who'd taken your fancy,' he said dryly, and turned to her again, looking at her with darkened, troubled eyes. 'I certainly didn't imagine you'd be like you are, innocent and shy. I'm sorry, Eilidh. I made a mistake and did the wrong thing in bringing you here and in making you stay, and all I can think of to make amends is to take you to the mainland now; take you to Blair and explain to him that it wasn't your fault you didn't meet him yesterday afternoon and tell him he isn't to believe anything he might read or hear about you in connection with me.'

  'But… but my clothes? What will I wear?' she exclaimed, thinking practically, in an attempt to ignore the disappointment that swelled up in her suddenly. Magnus didn't really want her after all, and what had happened between them had all been an act on his part; a pretence of loving.

  'Damn!' he swore, thrusting his fingers through his hair. 'I'd forgotten about that. They're at the bottom of the strait, aren't they?'

  'Yes. And the others, the ones I was wearing, won't be dry yet.'

  'There must be some here… some women's clothes, I mean, that will fit you,' he said, rising to his feet again. 'I'm sure Wanda will have left some.'

  'Wanda? Wanda Murray?' Helen exclaimed sharply. 'She's been here? She's stayed here with you?'

  'She's stayed here, yes,' he replied. 'Several times. She was here last week. That was when she asked me to help her to get you away from Blair for a while. Come with me, upstairs to her bedroom, and see for yourself if there's anything that will fit you.'

  He was stepping through the doorway before she could think up a protest, and reluctantly she slid off the bed, and tightening the belt to the robe about her waist she followed him, climbing up the second flight of stairs.

  Wanda's bedroom was directly above the one Helen had slept in. From its windows there were panoramic views of the other islands as well as the green hills of Kintyre. It was comfortably furnished with a fourposter bed, an antique dressing table and a wardrobe. The predominant colours in the curtains and bed coverings were yellow and orange and a thick yellow carpet covered the floor.

  To Helen's surprise there were many personal objects scattered about the room, and in particular her attention was drawn by some framed photographs arranged on the wall. One was of a middle-aged couple standing with a young woman whom she recognised, from the cloud of red-gold hair and deep blue eyes, as Wanda Murray. A rather ancient, much worn teddy-bear sat on the pillow at the top of the bed and there was a silver-backed brush and comb set on the dressing table. It looked as if Wanda Murray was a frequent visitor to the castle.

  Magnus swung open the wardrobe door. A few clothes, mostly casual tweed pants, jeans, shirts and sweaters, hung on hangers. He gestured towards them.

  'Take your pick,' he said. 'I'm sure Wanda won't mind.' He turned to one of the chests of drawers and pulled open a drawer. 'And there are some underclothes t
oo.' He turned back to her. 'I'll leave you to change and go and change myself. It's quite a long way to the Trossachs from here. In fact if I'd wanted to go to Callander I wouldn't start from here.'

  'Callander?' Helen exclaimed.

  'That's right. That's where Blair would probably have taken you for the weekend. His family have a country house there. But I'll phone before we set out, from the Macleishes' cottage, to make sure Wanda and he are still there.'

  'Magnus, it really isn't necessary for you to take me to see them. I… I can explain to Blair what happened when I see him on Tuesday at the hospital,' Helen said urgently.

  'No, I think I should do the explaining,' he replied firmly. 'I made the mistake, got you into this mess, so I'll get you out of it. If they're still at Callander we'll go to Callander today. If they're not, if Blair has returned to Glencross, we'll go there. I have to do this, Helen, to clear my conscience where you're concerned, so bear with me.'

  He went from the room, and with a sigh Helen went over to the wardrobe. How everything had changed in a few hours! This morning when she had pleaded with Magnus to take her to the mainland he had refused adamantly. Now, when she did not want to go, when she would have preferred to have stayed tonight and tomorrow and the next day, he insisted that she should leave with him.

  From the clothes in the wardrobe she chose a pair of jeans, a cotton shirt and a Fair Isle sweater, all of which looked as if they would fit her, and from the chest of drawers she borrowed a bra and some panties. When she was dressed she combed her hair with the silver-backed comb and tied it back with a piece of ribbon she found in a box of odds and ends on the dressing table. Then she studied the photographs more closely, discovering that there was one of Blair. But then there was also one of Magnus.

  'Ready?' Magnus spoke from the doorway. He had changed from jeans into well cut dark pants, a white silk shirt, open at the neck, and a belted jacket of dark blue suede.

  'Is Wanda your mistress?' The words were blurted out before Helen could bite them back. They were an expression of what was uppermost in her mind and had been ever since Marta Nielsen had told her of Max Fiedler's suspicions concerning Magnus and Wanda.

  'Not bloody likely,' retorted Magnus with a grin. 'Even if she wasn't my half-sister I wouldn't like to live with her.'

  'Wanda is your half-sister?' Helen repeated in amazement.

  'She is. We have the same mother.' His grin softened into an affectionate smile as he looked at the photograph of the middle-aged couple. 'There she is, dear old Mum, Megan Scott. You may have heard of her too, and seen her. She's a singer too, a concert singer. You may have heard her on recordings of Handel's Messiah, or if you like listening to classical music you may have heard her performance of Schubert and Brahm's lieder.'

  Helen stared at the photograph, at the plump smiling woman with the deep blue eyes and the white wavy hair. Oh, yes, she recognised Megan Scott all right, the Scottish soprano with the sweet yet strong voice who had made an international reputation for herself as a singer. Her glance slid from the woman to the man standing beside her. He was also smiling, a broad-faced stockily built man dressed in tweeds.

  'And the man? Who is he?' she asked.

  'Wanda's father, Alec Murray. Do you feel better now that you've straightened out the relationships?' Magnus mocked her lightly.

  'Yes. You see, I was puzzled. Marta Nielsen said that Max Fiedler suspected that you were going to marry Wanda Murray because you're often in her company, and—well, I just couldn't fit it in with what you did yesterday to separate me from Blair so that Wanda could have him to herself.' She glanced around the room. 'Marta also said she envied you the possession of this castle. Does it really belong to you?'

  'It actually belongs to my mother. Her father left it to her when he died a few years ago. But even before then Wanda and I used to come here often. We've both used it as a place to get away from it all; a place where we can both be ourselves instead of what the public want us to be and, believe me, that's very necessary when you're an entertainer and spend a lot of your time in the full glare of publicity.' His face tightened grimly and he turned away to the door. 'Let's go now.'

  'What shall I do with your robe?' she asked.

  'Give it to me. I'll throw it into my room.'

  He went ahead of her along the landing, pausing at the doorway of another room to toss the robe inside before running down the stairs.

  'Do you think I could have something to eat before we leave?' Helen asked, following him into the kitchen and thinking it was a way to delay their departure. Perhaps if she could delay it even an hour he might decide then it was too late to set off for Callander and would postpone it until tomorrow.

  Surprised and a little amused at her own deviousness, she waited for his answer. It came in a way she hadn't expected. From behind her his hands slid over her shoulders down over her breasts and she was pulled back against him. When he bent his head his cheek brushed against hers.

  'You know, I'm fast getting the impression that contrary to what you said this morning you don't want to leave Carroch,' he whispered, and turning his head he nibbled her ear lobe. The light slightly mocking caress sent all sorts of delicious tingles shooting along her nerves, and pivoting on her feet, which were still bare because she hadn't found anything to put on them in Wanda's room, she turned within the circle of his arms to face him. 'Would I be right?' he queried.

  'Yes, you would be right,' she replied shyly, putting her arms around his neck and hiding her face in the silkiness of his shirt. 'But it isn't Carroch I don't want to leave,' she added softly.

  Magnus didn't say anything but his arms tightened about her and his hands slid over her back caressingly. After a few moments he straightened up and putting his hands on her shoulders pushed her away from him, but still held her shoulders while he looked down at her, his eyes searching her face. She looked back at him serenely.

  'Eilidh, please try to understand,' he said huskily. 'I can't let you stay here with me any longer.'

  'Why not?'

  'I…' He broke off, his hands dropping away from her abruptly. Thrusting them into his jacket pockets, he stared down at his feet, his face set in stern lines. 'I don't trust myself,' he said gratingly. 'I don't trust myself not to make love to you, if we stay. Remember what nearly happened this morning, what would have happened if Max and the other two hadn't turned up.'

  'Yes, I remember,' she whispered.

  'Then come on, let's go to the boat and cross over to Macleish's cottage and phone Blair and Wanda,' he said autocratically, marching towards the porch and opening the door.

  'I can't. I can't come. I haven't any shoes. Wanda's shoes don't fit me and my own… well, look at them!' Helen picked up her shoes from where she had put them. They were still sodden with sea-water, their shape distorted.

  'There's a pair of seaboots out here that might fit you,' Magnus replied, his voice muffled as he bent down in the porch. When he straightened up he flung the seaboots into the kitchen and staying in the porch proceeded to pull on his own boots.

  Reluctantly Helen picked up the seaboots and stepped into them. They were cool and clammy and just a little too long, but she could walk in them.

  'Okay?' queried Magnus, looking in from the porch. He was slipping the yellow waterproof jacket on over his suede jacket. 'There's one of these you can wear too. It's Wanda's.'

  Holding the yellow jacket in his hand, he stepped back into the kitchen towards her. Helen put a hand to her head and swayed slightly. Backing away from him, she leaned a hand on the table as if for support and moaned.

  'Oh, I'm so hungry,' she said gaspingly. 'I'm starving! I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast, and I can't possibly go on a journey without eating something now. If I don't eat soon I'll… I'll faint. Oh, I think I'm going to faint now!'

  'Damn!' The oath crisped from his throat. 'Women!' he added scathingly, and dropped the waterproof to the floor. Stepping over to her, he seized her by the shoulders and push
ed her down on one of the chairs. 'Now what would you like to eat?' he asked.

  With one hand shielding her eyes and part of her face in case he saw that she was nearly laughing and not at all near to fainting, Helen whispered, 'I'd like a good dinner. I haven't really had anything decent to eat since I came here.'

  'I cooked a meal for you last night,' he exclaimed. 'And I told you to help yourself if you wanted anything. You could have had some lunch with Marta, me and the others if you'd wanted instead of hiding away in the bedroom. You've only yourself to blame if you're hungry.'

  'Oh, you're not very nice,' Helen retorted, abandoning her pretence at feeling faint because it didn't seem to be having the right effect on him. He wasn't at all concerned about her wellbeing now.

  'No, I'm not,' he agreed tautly. 'As I tried to tell you last night.' He was eyeing her cynically. 'And you can stop putting on an act. You're nowhere near fainting!' Swinging away from her, he went over to the refrigerator, opened the door and took out a jug of milk. 'You can have some milk and I'll make you a ham sandwich,' he said crisply. 'We'll stop somewhere on the way to Callander for a meal at a hotel.'

  'But I don't want to go to Callander. And I don't want to see Blair or Wanda,' she protested.

  'Funny how you've changed your mind since you've found out who I am, isn't it?' he sneered.

  'It has nothing to do with who or what you are,' Helen retorted furiously. 'I'm not leaving here until I've had a decent meal, and there's nothing you can do to make me leave until I'm ready to go!'

  Kicking off the rubber boots, she walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom, her lips curving wryly as she looked around the room. She was certainly spending a lot of time in it and she was glad it was comfortable. Going over to the bed, she began to straighten it, plumping the pillows, smoothing the sheets and putting the cover in place. Then carrying the small armchair over to the window, she sat down in it and looked out at the view. She would wait for a while and if Magnus didn't come up to try and persuade her to go over to the mainland again she would go downstairs and make a meal for herself.