Taking short steps, her hands spread in front of her as though she were blind, she began to move cautiously forward, doing her best to keep in a straight line.
She had been going for perhaps a minute when it dawned on her that the ground beneath her feet was the slightly yielding texture of damp sand, rather than the concrete of the causeway.
As she stopped abruptly and hesitated, she found her shoes were wet. She was just digesting this frightening fact when a sudden surge of icy water swirled around her ankles and sucked sand from beneath her feet.
Flailing to keep her balance, she felt the strap of her bag slip from her shoulder. Unable to see a thing, she stooped and was groping about, trying to find it, when another wave engulfed her arms up to her elbows, and threatened to take her feet from under her.
Giving up the search, she straightened and turned to retrace her steps, only to find that she was splashing in even deeper water.
Completely disoriented, she stood quite still. But there wasn’t much time, common sense warned. The tide swept in quickly on this flat stretch of coast.
Galvanized by that chilling thought, she had taken a few desperate steps when an even more horrifying thought brought her to a halt and made her heart start to pound with slow, heavy thuds.
When she had first come to Saltmarsh she had been warned never to stray from the causeway because of dangerous quicksands. There was a local legend to the effect that in Victorian times they had swallowed up an unwary rider and his horse.
Oh, dear God, what was she to do?
‘Jo!’ The muffled shout seemed to echo and ricochet off the walls of fog.
She tried to answer, but only managed a croak.
‘Jo!’ This time Quinn’s shout was closer, and she saw through the grey mass the brightness of a hand-held flare.
‘I’m here! Off the causeway.’ She was unable to keep the panic from her voice.
‘Don’t move. Stay exactly where you are and start counting. One, two…’
With the fog masking sight and deadening sound it was impossible to tell just how close he was, and already the water was eddying round her calves, making her flounder repeatedly.
But she trusted Quinn implicitly. Her eyes fixed on the moving pinkish-orange glow, she took up the count. ‘Three, four…’
She had reached fifteen when the flare went out. ‘Quinn!’
Her involuntary cry of alarm was answered by a reassuring, ‘It’s all right. I’m here.’ A second or two later a dark shape loomed out of the fog, and he was by her side.
‘Give me your hand.’ He began to lead her with a certainty she could only marvel at, and after a few floundering steps she felt the concrete of the causeway beneath her feet.
‘Take hold of my arm and turn your head away.’
Keeping a tight grip on his arm, she did as she’d been bidden, and out of the corner of her eye saw another flare burst into brilliant life.
The pinkish glow illuminated the curtain of fog, briefly picking out one of the marker posts and gleaming on the dark ripples.
One hand holding it aloft, the other securely round her waist, he said, ‘The tide’s coming in fast; we’ll have to hurry.’
Though his voice was calm, she recognized the underlying urgency. Her whole body icy cold, her feet dead, she did her best, but the swirling water was knee-deep now, and getting deeper.
She stumbled, and, muttering something under his breath, Quinn urged her forward. Knowing his life was at stake as well as her own, she gritted her teeth and battled on.
But in her numb and weakened state it was like wading through treacle, and her reserves of strength were fast running out. He was half carrying her, when all at once it began to get easier.
With a fresh heart she forced her reluctant legs to keep moving, and in a few yards they were at the end of the causeway and splashing through the shallows.
As soon as they were safe on the gritty sand above high water mark, her knees buckled under her and she sat down abruptly.
Setting the flare down on the sand, Quinn stripped off his jacket and sweater. Then, hauling Elizabeth to her feet, he pulled the sweater over her head and zipped her into the jacket.
They still held the warmth of his body and almost immediately some of the dreadful paralysis began to leave her.
‘Let’s get going before hypothermia sets in,’ he said briskly. As he spoke the flare spluttered and died.
‘Have you another one?’ She was surprised how normal her voice sounded.
‘No, but we can manage from here. We’ll soon be on the road.’ He put an arm round her and led her into the murk.
Hardly able to see a hand in front of her, she wondered whether it was instinct, or pure confidence, that allowed him to move with such relative ease.
When the foreshore had been left behind them and the subsequent hard-packed, rutted ground had given way to tarmac, Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Not far now. We should be able to see the lights of the inn before too long.’
In a couple of minutes he was proved right, and a short time later he was opening the door of the Ship and pushing her into the lounge where a cheerful fire was blazing.
The man who had served them the previous day was polishing glasses at the bar. He looked surprised. ‘Didn’t expect any customers on an afternoon like this.’
Then, taking in Quinn’s shirt-sleeves and wet trousers, their soaking footwear and Elizabeth’s white-faced, exhausted state, he exclaimed, ‘You’ve obviously been in trouble! What do you need?’
‘Hot coffee first and foremost.’
The landlord disappeared without another word.
After leading Elizabeth to a chair close by the fire, Quinn stooped to pull off her sodden shoes and chafe her icy feet between his palms.
Her wet things were steaming gently in the heat when a rattle of cups announced the arrival of the coffee.
A buxom woman with soft brown hair and a fresh complexion put the tray on the nearest table. ‘I’ve made a whole pot. My husband said you’d had trouble?’
Quinn rose to his feet to pour the coffee and put a cup into Elizabeth’s hand, before answering matter-of-factly, ‘My wife and I had started to cross the causeway when the fog thickened and slowed us down, and we were almost caught by the tide.’
The landlady tutted sympathetically. ‘It comes in very fast in these parts. It’s a miracle no one’s been drowned. I take it you’re from the big house?’
‘Yes.’
Getting down to practicalities, she observed, ‘Well, you’ll not get back today, so you’ll be wanting a hot bath and a room for the night?’
‘Please.’
‘Number three has its own bathroom. I’ll pop up and light a fire—there’s central heating, of course, but a fire’s a lot more cheerful—and make sure you have everything there you need.’
Glancing at Elizabeth’s chalk-white face, she remarked kindly, ‘You look absolutely done in. If you’d like any help…’
‘Thank you, but I’ll be fine.’
Turning back to Quinn, she suggested, ‘You’ll be wanting a full evening meal rather than a bar snack? Steak and kidney pudding and apple pie to follow?’
‘Sounds marvellous.’
‘I’ll bring up a tray about seven.’ She added, ‘If you’d like me to wash and dry your wet things, just let me have them.’ She took herself off.
The coffee was hot and strong and more than welcome. By the time Elizabeth had gulped down two cups, the terrible inner coldness had gone and life was starting to come back to her frozen limbs.
‘More coffee?’ Quinn asked.
She shook her head.
‘Then I suggest you get out of those wet clothes and into a hot bath.’
On struggling to her feet, she found her legs were so shaky they would barely support her, and the pain of returning circulation was making her eyes fill with water.
Quinn, who missed nothing, was by her side in an instant.
‘I’m sor
ry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got hot-aches. I’m not crying.’ As if to give the lie to that statement, twin tears overflowed and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
Quinn muttered something under his breath and, scooping her up in his arms, set off for the stairs.
She could feel the tension in every muscle of his body, and a quick, nervous glance at his face told her that he was absolutely livid.
Suddenly, scared to be alone with him, she wished she’d accepted the landlady’s offer of help.
But it would only have been a postponement. She would have had to face his anger sooner or later.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY THE time they reached their room, where a fire had already been lit and a basket of logs placed by the hearth, she was trembling in every limb.
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’ She was aware she sounded apologetic.
‘Delayed shock.’ He gave his opinion curtly. Carrying her into the bathroom, he set her down carefully on a stool, and turned on the taps.
The landlady had been as good as her word. Next to a fresh pile of towels were two white towelling robes and two complimentary packs of toilet articles, which contained everything they might need.
When the bath was full, and fragrant steam rising, Quinn stripped off Elizabeth’s clothes and helped her step in. All the stuffing gone out of her, and still shaking, she submitted to his ministrations like an exhausted child.
When her head was settled against the headrest, and she was enveloped in the comforting warmth, he asked, ‘Okay?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Is there anything else you’d like me to do?’
Concerned for him now, she said, ‘Yes, I’d like you to get out of your own wet things.’
‘Will you be all right if I take a shower?’
‘Quite all right, thank you.’
His anger was under control now and hidden, and they were talking to each other with a kind of stilted politeness.
‘Don’t go to sleep,’ he warned.
‘I won’t,’ she promised.
Through half-closed eyes, she watched him strip off his black polo shirt and saturated trousers, admiring his splendid physique and the smooth ripple of muscles.
She could only thank heaven that he was the kind of man he was, that his will-power and courage matched his physical strength.
In those conditions, a lesser man might never have come looking for her, let alone risked his own life to save her…
Before long she started to feel relaxed and drowsy and the shaking stopped. By the time Quinn had showered and put on the towelling robe, in spite of her promise, she was half asleep.
Dabbling a hand in the rapidly cooling water, he pulled out the plug and said briskly, ‘Time you were out of there and into bed.’
Helping her to her feet, he wrapped a large, fluffy bath towel round her and effortlessly lifted her out. ‘Do you want any help, or can you manage now?’
Somewhat dazed, but on her dignity, she said, ‘I can manage, thank you.’
‘Then I’ll take these down.’ He gathered up their wet things and went out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Watching his retreating back, she found she was disappointed. Without in the least understanding her own feelings, her sudden sense of dependency—if that was what it was—she had hoped he would dry her.
Her arms curiously leaden, she dried herself, rubbing the bedraggled ends of her hair and combing it, before pulling on the waiting robe.
When she went through to the bedroom—the same room she and Quinn had shared previously—it was warm and cosy, the bedside lamps were lit and the fire in the black grate was blazing cheerfully.
Quinn wasn’t back, and all at once she felt alone and lonely. Which was stupid, she thought, climbing into bed. She was good at being alone. Anyone could get good at being alone with enough practice. And she’d had quite a lot of practice…
But what a sad way to spend one’s life.
No matter what Quinn might believe, she had never cared about material things. The only thing she’d ever really wanted out of life was just to love and be loved in return.
The one thing it seemed she could never have…
All at once tears welled up in her eyes. Too weary to hold them back, she let them spill over and run down her cheeks in tracks of shiny wetness.
The bed was comfortable, the pillows soft, and when Quinn returned a minute or so later she was fast asleep, her black hair spread across the pillow, her pale face still wet with tears.
He stood looking down at her, his expression bleak, before moving to sit by the fire.
A knock at the door wakened Elizabeth, and she sat up dazedly to find the fire had been replenished and their dinner had arrived.
When the tray of food had been set on a low table by the hearth, the landlady said, ‘I’ll be up in half an hour or so to clear away and bring the coffee. If you need anything else in the meantime, just let me know.’
Quinn thanked her, and she bustled away.
Turning to Elizabeth, he said with distant civility, ‘You still look exhausted. Would you like your meal in bed?’
Feeling groggy, her stomach balking at the thought of food, she would have liked to just go quietly back to sleep again. But, unwilling to admit her weakness, she said with forced brightness, ‘I’m as right as rain, thank you. I’d much sooner get up.’
‘If that’s what you prefer.’
Once again they were talking to each other like polite but wary strangers.
Climbing out of bed, she tightened the belt of her robe and came to sit by the fire.
The home-cooked food was excellent, but she could only manage a few mouthfuls. Quinn too ate sparingly, his face cold and aloof, his musings clearly sombre ones.
Wishing she could see beneath that icy façade, she wondered just what he was thinking, feeling, planning.
By the time the landlady had brought the coffee and departed with the dirty dishes, more than an hour had passed, and except for thanking that good lady he hadn’t spoken a single word.
A barbed-wire tension filled the air, stretching between them, putting Elizabeth on tenterhooks.
Leaning forward, he picked up the coffee pot, and, having filled two cups with the fragrant brew, proceeded to drain his own in silence.
Her nerves at breaking point, and unable to bear the strain a moment longer, she burst out hoarsely, ‘I haven’t thanked you yet for…’
He looked up, and, shaken rigid by the expression in his green eyes, she faltered to a halt. When he said nothing, desperate to make some kind of contact, she admitted, ‘I— I know you’re angry with me but—’
With a sudden savage fury that was more daunting because it was quiet, he snarled, ‘Angry doesn’t begin to cover it. What you did was absolutely idiotic! If I hadn’t realized you’d gone, you could have died out there.’
‘Not could have. Would have.’ Her voice was unsteady, close to tears. ‘You saved my life.’
A white line appearing around his mouth, he said, ‘You must absolutely loathe me to have risked it.’
‘No!’
He laughed harshly. ‘There’s little point in denying it. It’s clear you find the thought of being married to me quite insupportable.
‘I was an arrogant fool to think for a moment that sharing my bed meant you were willing to stay with me. If I hadn’t been so damned cock-a-hoop I’d have realized from your manner that you had no intention of going through with it.
‘Perhaps, underneath, I never really believed your apparent surrender. Maybe that was what made me uneasy enough to go up to your room…
‘When you weren’t there, I looked in the kitchen… Then I saw that though your case was still in the hall your handbag was missing… You did take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘I lost it. The strap slipped off my shoulder. I couldn’t see, so I tried feeling for it, but the water was getting deep
er and I panicked.’
His face grim, he said, ‘No wonder.’
‘I knew I had to keep moving, but I didn’t know which way to go. If you hadn’t caught up with me soon after that…’ Shuddering violently, she let the words tail off.
‘It was a miracle I did. When I saw the car was where I’d left it, I thought you must still be in the house somewhere. I could hardly believe that anyone in their right mind would be reckless enough to start out on foot on a day like this, and with the tide already on the turn. If it hadn’t been for that missing bag…’
He passed a hand over his eyes. Then, roughly, he asked, ‘Tell me, if you were so determined to go, why walk? You can drive, can’t you?’
‘Yes, I can drive. A college friend who had an old banger taught me.’
‘Then why didn’t you take the car?’
‘I couldn’t find the keys,’ she admitted. ‘I presumed you must have them on you.’
‘Would you believe I’d left them in the ignition?’
Ironically, it was the one place she’d never thought to look. It seemed fate had been laughing at her.
Wanting to keep him talking so he could rid himself of some of the bitterness and anger that was riding him, she asked, ‘Why didn’t you use the car?’
‘By then it was too foggy to chance driving across. For one thing I might have knocked you down. In any case, as soon as I remembered there used to be flares in the boathouse, I knew if I could find them I’d make better time on foot.’
‘Thank God you did,’ she said with fervour. ‘When I realized I’d strayed off the causeway, I’ve never been so scared in my life. Especially when I remembered the quicksand…’
His face a mask, the olive skin stretched tightly over the strong bones, he said, ‘I take it you intended to head for London?’
‘Yes.’
‘Had you decided to throw yourself on Beaumont’s tender mercies.’
‘No.’
‘So you’d planned to disappear again?’
Marriage on Trial Page 12
