'I beg your pardon?'
'You've brought yourself to my aunt's attention. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?'
Abby was not sure she had heard correctly, but the anger on Giles Farrow's face told her she had not misunderstood the implication behind his words. For a reason best known to himself, he thought she was deliberately trying to get round his aunt.
'I don't know why you have such a bad impression of me, Mr Farrow.' Abby found her voice was trembling and she stopped and waited for it to steady itself before continuing. 'But I can assure you it was quite a sacrifice for me to remain with your aunt and lose part of my tour. I can't afford to come to India again, and this trip means a great deal to me.'
'Not as much as my aunt could mean to you. You could have many interesting trips with her if you continue to play your cards right.'
Angrily Abby faced him across the table. 'What am I supposed to want from your aunt, and why on earth should she bother herself with me?'
'Because you could be a secretary-companion for her,' he said bluntly. 'This is the first time she's travelled alone. Until now she's always had someone with her to do her typing and to keep her notes in order. It's an excellent job and I don't blame you for wanting it. Six months in a country mansion and six months travelling all over the world is quite an attraction.'
'I don't know what you're talking about. I had no idea that your aunt employs anyone and '
'Spare me the pretence. You'll be telling me next you don't know who she is.'
'Is it so important to be your aunt?' Abby asked with sweet sarcasm.
He gave a tight, unamused smile. 'I give you full marks for trying, Miss West, but you damned well know who my aunt is. Everyone's heard of Mattie Bates.'
'Mattie Bates?' Abby echoed. 'You don't… you don't mean Miss Bateman is… But I'd—I'd no idea! You do mean Mattie Bates the detective writer, don't you?'
'I do,' he said tersely, 'and please spare me the rest of the act.'
'I'll do better than that, Mr Farrow. I'll spare you having dinner with me.' Furiously she jumped to her feet. 'I've had as much of your insinuations as I can take. Whether you believe me or not, I'd like to get the record straight. I didn't know your aunt was anyone other than a charming old lady travelling on her own. And if you want something else to disbelieve, then I'll tell you that I thought you were paying for her holiday!'
Without giving him a chance to reply she swung away from the table and walked blindly towards the door.
She was standing by the lift, her fingers pressed on the button, when he caught up with her.
'You're supposed to be having dinner with me,' he said coldly.
'Have it by yourself. I'm sure you'll enjoy it more.'
'I'm sorry if I've made you angry, Miss West.'
'You haven't made me angry. I'm quite used to being accused of making up to old ladies. As a matter of fact I usually insure them for a hundred thousand pounds before I bump them off!'
The lift doors opened and she stepped inside.
'Please come back to the table and talk to me,' he said quickly.
'No, thank you, I'm going to bed.'
The doors closed and only as the lift descended did she lean against the wall, aware that she was shaking as though with fever. What an unbelievably hateful man he was, and how distorted a view he must have of people if he believed she had befriended his aunt in order to better herself.
Mattie Bates. The name brought to her mind much of what Abby had read of the creator of the fabulously successful Mr Gill and Alphonse Drake, those two masterminds of detective fiction who had headed the best-seller lists since their creation thirty years ago. And it was not only with books that Mattie Bates had found fame, but also with the plays and films that had been made highly successfully from them. Her wealth was legendary and she used it to obtain the maximum privacy for herself.
The lift doors parted and Abby stepped into the foyer. It was obvious that Giles Farrow had a deep sense of guilt at being the beneficiary of so much wealth: a guilt that made him suspicious of anyone who tried to befriend his aunt. The thought increased her dislike of him and, in an effort to forget the whole unpleasant scene that had just taken place, she decided to treat herself to a rickshaw drive.
She crossed the lobby and paused beside the revolving doors.
'You wish for taxi car?' the night porter asked.
She hesitated, then said she wanted a taxi bike, deciding that this would be cheaper.
He hailed one from a long, waiting rank, and she gingerly clambered on to the narrow seat and gave the name of another hotel which she- had seen on her drive to the Taj Mahal the first night she had arrived in Agra.
As her driver began to pedal, the cold wind whipped around her, though it did not cool her temper, which bubbled away steadily as she went back over her conversation with Giles Farrow. How dared he accuse her of deliberately making herself indispensable to his aunt? He did not know the woman if he thought her capable of being at the mercy of any young girl with her eye on the main chance. Miss Bateman was an astute judge of character, as her comments about those on the tour had already shown Abby; only in her judgment of her nephew did she seem to be totally wrong.
'I'll leave here first thing in the morning,' Abby muttered aloud. 'And if I can't get a flight out, then I'll move to another hotel. That should show Mr High- and-Mighty that I've got no aims in his aunt's direction!'
Having made this decision, Abby's temper lessened sufficiently for her to take in her surroundings, and she saw the taxi bike had come to halt and that the driver had turned round on the saddle to face her.
'Long way to hotel,' he said. 'You pay ten rupees more.'
Abby was taken aback. Then she became afraid. But she knew she dared not show it, and she looked back at the man with as much haughtiness as she could muster.
'I won't pay you one single rupee more. We've already agreed a price.'
'I change my mind. Is a long far journey. You pay eight rupees instead.'
'No,' Abby repeated. It was not the price which made her reluctant to hand over the money—to a Western pocket it was a ludicrously low sum anyway— but the knowledge that she dared not put herself in the position of being held to blackmail.
'I'll pay you something extra when we get to the hotel,' she said.
'You no pay, I no take you.'
'Then I'll find someone else who will.'
Quickly, before her courage deserted her, Abby jumped to the ground. There were no street lights to guide her, and with only a sickle moon for illumination, she hurried down the road. There were no other vehicles or people in sight, and she was by no means sure she would be able to find another taxi. All she did know was that she was not going to argue with her Indian driver or give in to his demands. To have done so would have encouraged him to ask for more, perhaps even to snatch her purse and kill her. Terrified by the thought, she ran even faster.
'You come back to rickshaw, lady.' A sibilant voice, almost in her ear, told her that the man was keeping steady pace alongside of her. 'Get back in,' he said softly.
'No, thank you, I'm going to find someone else to take me.'
'No one around so late. It is too far for you to walk. You come with me, lady. I no take money now. I wait till we get to hotel.'
'No,' she repeated, and quickened her pace. There was a look on the man's face she did not like and she had no intention of getting back into his rickshaw. The end of the road was only about twenty yards away and she could dimly discern a large grass-covered roundabout. On it were small mounds of what looked like bundles of dirty washing, but Abby knew each bundle was a human being sleeping there for the night because they had no home to which they could go. She had been horrified when Mr Shiraz had pointed out these destitutes to them on their first visit to the Taj, but now she saw them as her only hope of escaping the man beside her.
'I not want to frighten you, lady. You take seat in rickshaw and we go to hotel.'
With
out replying she tried to quicken her pace. But there was a stitch in her side and she could not go any faster. Behind her she heard the rumble of a car, and its lights picked out the dusty road ahead of her. But instead of going past, it slowed down and a face peered out through the window.
'Miss West?'
With a gasp of astonishment she stopped dead and looked into Giles Farrow's chiselled features.
'Why are you running along the road?' he asked abruptly.
'The man wanted to be paid in advance and I didn't think it wise to do so.'
'Neither is it wise for you to be going on foot. Get in,' he ordered, and opened the door of the taxi for her.
Pride made her want to refuse the offer but fear impelled her to accept it, and without a word she clambered into the seat beside him. Only then did he say something in Indian to the cyclist. Abby did not understand it, but the tone made translation unnecessary, and she was not surprised to see the man pedal away for dear life.
'What did you say to him?' she asked faintly.
'I told him if I saw him hanging around the hotel any more I'd have his hide.'
'How did you know where to find me?' she asked.
'I didn't. It was sheer chance that I took this route. I followed you down to the lobby, but you'd already gone out. The porter told me you'd taken a rickshaw bike and I decided to follow you. Unattached females shouldn't go traipsing across the city at night. And if you did want to, you should have had the sense to take a car.'
'They're more expensive.' - 'A few rupees only,' he shrugged. 'I refuse to believe you're that hard up.'
The tone of his voice told her he was serious and she marvelled that he could have so little understanding of the way many people had to live: on a fixed budget where every penny counted.
'I came on this holiday with a specific amount of money to spend,' she said coldly, 'and anything I fritter away means I'll have less left over with which to buy things. A couple of rupees might be unimportant in themselves, but they have the habit of mounting up.'
'I considered you sufficiently intelligent to value your safety more than a few extra rupees with which to buy baubles.'
'Oh, you're impossible!' she snapped, and lapsed into an angry silence.
A few moments later they were back at the Clark Shiraz, and as the taxi drew to a halt she fumbled at the door to get out.
'Just a moment,' said Giles Farrow. 'I think you should know that I've changed your room.'
'You've what!' Astonishment kept her motionless.
'I've asked the hotel to change your room. It was at my aunt's behest, not mine. She wants you to have a room with a view of the Taj.'
Tears came into Abby's eyes and she blinked them away. Dear Miss Bateman! How unlike her autocratic nephew she was.
'That won't be necessary, Mr Farrow,' she said. 'I'm leaving Agra tomorrow and there's no point moving my room for one night.'
'It's already been arranged.'
'Then unarrange it.'
She jumped out of the taxi and ran into the hotel. She was at the reception desk asking for her key when Giles Farrow caught up with her.
'Don't make an unnecessary fuss, Miss West,' he said softly. 'My aunt wishes to show you a kindness in return for your own, and it's petty to refuse.'
She swung round on him, tilting her head up sharply so that she could meet his eyes and wishing she were a head taller. Amber eyes stared back at her, their colour intensifying as he gave a slight, unexpected smile.
'For someone so small, you have a mighty fine temper. But I'm too tired to argue with you any longer. If you don't do as my aunt wishes, I suggest you go up and tell her.'
Abby's small white teeth caught at her lower lip, aware that Giles Farrow had skilfully made her look childish.
'Very well, I'll do as Miss Bateman wants.' She flashed him a bright hard glance. 'Paying for me to have a better room for a night doesn't mean very much to her. She could probably buy the hotel without noticing
For an instant he looked startled, then realised she was being deliberately provoking, and he glanced down at his watch.
'I don't know about you, Miss West, but I'm exceedingly hungry. You made me leave my dinner before I'd even started it and my appetite refuses to be allayed any longer. I intend to continue with my meal and I suggest you retire to your room and do the same.'
Before she could think of a suitable retort, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her to cope with an assorted mixture of emotions: anger, amusement, dislike.
But it was amusement that predominated as she was given the key to a bedroom on the same floor as Miss Bateman, and entered it to find her luggage already there, having been packed and unpacked by one of the many young Indian maids who flitted silently about the hotel. It was the most luxurious room she had ever stayed in, and she bounced happily up and down on the bed, then more soberly opened her case and lifted out some of her things. She was too hungry to unpack properly and she was debating what to order when there was a knock at the door and, at her command to enter, a waiter wheeled in a laden trolley.
She looked at him in perplexity. 'I didn't order anything.'
'Order came to kitchen,' he replied, and left the trolley beside the window. 'If you wish for anything else, please call me.' He backed out respectfully, leaving Abby to lift the silver-covered dishes and stare at the steaming hot food: crisply baked chicken, steaming rice mixed with dried fruit and cashew nuts, aromatically spiced spinach.
She knew at once that Giles Farrow had ordered this for her, and though the thought almost robbed her of her appetite, it did not succeed. Pulling up a chair, she started to tuck into the food. The surroundings were not as glamorous as the Moghul Room, but at least she had no need to make conversation with a man she detested.
Her fork was motionless in the air. Detested was too strong a word. Disliked was a better one. Yes, she definitely disliked Giles Farrow.
CHAPTER SIX
With an excellent meal inside her, Abby presented herself at the door of Miss Bateman's room and, seeing a light coming from underneath it, knew the old lady was not asleep.
'How lovely to see you,' Miss Bateman exclaimed, as she went in. 'I'm so glad you had dinner with Giles. It gave you a chance to know each other.'
Abby smiled without answering, unwilling to let the woman know that she and the beloved nephew were as close to knowing each other as a rattlesnake and a rabbit. And I know exactly who's the rabbit, she thought wryly as she perched on the edge of the bed.
'You look heaps better, Miss Bateman,' she said.
'I feel it. You look better too.' Miss Bateman eyed Abby's flushed cheeks, their pink matching the dress whose figure-fitting bodice hugged small curving breasts and a tiny waist. 'Do you like your room?'
'It's lovely. But it was extravagant of you to do it. I was quite comfortable where I was.'
'But now you can see the Taj—which I know you love.'
Their glances met and they smiled, happy together.
'I don't want you to stay up here and keep me company,' Miss Bateman continued. 'I understand there's dancing in one of the rooms downstairs.'
'Pooh to that,' said Abby. 'I can always go dancing in London.'
'Do you?'
'Not often. But that's from choice. I find most men of my age too childish, while the older ones are either married or on the prowl.'
'Looking for bedmates, you mean?' Miss Bateman saw Abby's expression and chuckled. 'I'm not as dated as I look.'
Abby smiled back. 'You must have thought me an awful fool for not knowing who you were. When Mr Farrow told me, I— '
'Giles told you?' His aunt looked annoyed. 'I should have warned him to hold his tongue. I intended telling you myself when we got to Bombay. You see, I've something in mind for you.'
'Really?'
'Can't you guess what it is?'
Abby could, having spoken to Giles Farrow, but she was reluctant to say so. Instead she made a negative sign and waited for the
woman to tell her.
As expected, it was an offer to become her secretary companion.
'Don't give your answer now, child. Think about it carefully. My home is in the country and your life with me would be a quiet one. I still travel, of course, and you would accompany me, but I don't go away as frequently as I did, and for eight months of the year you would be isolated. I would also work you hard.'
'Having given me all the reasons why I should refuse your offer,' Abby smiled, 'shouldn't you tell me why I should accept?'
'Because you told me you loved the countryside. Because you're fond of animals and if you lived with me you would be able to have a dog of your own. Because you'd like to travel, and my next trip will be to Japan.' Miss Bateman paused. 'But I still want you to think it over carefully.'
Abby stared at the carpet. 'Does your nephew come to see you often?'
'He hasn't done for the past three years since he's lived in India. But he's returning to England in a few months, so I daresay he'll come for a weekend every month.'
'Does he know you're offering me this job? He won't approve, you know. He thinks I've been nice to you because I've been angling for it.'
'Which just goes to show that even the cleverest of men are fools when it comes to judging women. No wonder I've never married!' Miss Bateman eyed Abby seriously. 'Don't let Giles upset you. He's always been concerned to see that no one takes advantage of me, and since I know you also have my best interests at heart, it should give you something in common.'
Abby bit back the comment that the only thing she and Giles had in common was their antipathy for each other.
'I'd love to work for you, Miss Bateman. It sounds a wonderful job.'
The old lady looked delighted, and Abby forced herself to think of this when she saw Giles Farrow the following morning outside his aunt's bedroom.
'So you got what you've been angling for?' he commented coldly.
'If you say so, Mr Farrow,' she answered demurely. 'I wouldn't dream of trying to change your opinion of me.'
'You wouldn't succeed. You may fool my aunt, but you'll still have me to contend with.'
'Watching to make sure I don't steal the silver?'
Rachel Lindsay - Man of Ice Page 5
