by Liz Fielding
‘Then I think that calls for another apology, don’t you?’
He ignored that. ‘And once Adele had assured me, somewhat astringently, that she didn’t plant the photograph in your parachute, I decided to put your car on the ramp and check it out.’ He was taking a long time to come the point, but she continued to wait. ‘I think you should know that your brakes failed because they’d been tampered with.’
She laughed. It was a small, uncertain little sound. ‘You’re joking. I mean this time you are joking?’
‘I told the mechanic who came to pick it up what I’d found. No doubt the garage will give you a full report which you may wish to pass on to the police. That’s the important reason I’m here, Claudia. The parachute was a distraction,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think there’s any doubt about the intent.’
‘Intent?’ Her brain had stopped functioning, it was merely recycling the last word it heard. Then it sank in. ‘Do you mean someone really wants to kill me?’
He paused a fraction too long before he said, ‘I doubt it. With your seatbelt and an airbag it’s unlikely you’d have sustained any serious injury. But it could certainly have been a lot worse.’
‘Yes,’ she said, slowly. ‘I could have hit Barty’s Porsche.’
‘Claudia? Are you all right?’
Was she all right? She was in one piece, so that had to be a good start. But she wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or cry. She decided that neither was appropriate. Not until she’d had a few hours sleep. ‘I’m going to bed, Mac. Don’t wake the neighbours when you let yourself out.’
Claudia stirred to the sound of a cup being placed by her bed but didn’t open her eyes. She ached in every bone and her eyelids were just too heavy to lift.
Then there was a touch on her shoulder, warm fingers against her skin.
‘Claudia?’
She recognised the voice. Gabriel. She had her own personal archangel to bring her a cup of tea. That was nice. She smiled, but despite a latent curiosity about angels, she decided it was altogether too much effort to do more.
‘Claudia, please wake up. It’s eleven o’clock and I have to be somewhere else.’
She blinked into her pillow, opened her eyes and immediately forgot all about angels. Gabriel MacIntyre was no angel. Far from it. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ she demanded, lifting her head to turn and look at him then, as she realised that she hadn’t made it into a nightdress, clutching her sheet to her before turning to confront him. ‘I know I locked my bedroom door.’
‘Do you?’ He might think it funny but she didn’t.
‘Yes, I damned well do,’ she said.
‘Then I’m sure you did,’ he replied, gently. ‘But don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in a while with something that will keep you just a little more secure.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘In the meantime, don’t answer your door to anyone.’
‘Anyone?’ she queried. ‘You mean anyone I don’t know?’
‘I mean anyone. I’ll be a couple of hours,’ he said, turning to leave.
‘It won’t do you any good, I won’t be here,’ she called after him.
He came right back, which was not exactly what she had intended. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘And when?’
She considered telling him to mind his own business, but since he seemed to consider her life was his business it would probably be easier to tell him. It was hardly a state secret. ‘I’m going to work. I’ve a matinee and I have to be at the theatre at two o’clock.’
‘How do you plan to get there?’
‘You should take this up for a living you know. If you bought yourself one of those big, bright torches to shine in your victims eyes they wouldn’t stand a-’
‘How do you plan to get there?’ he insisted.
‘My sister will pick me up.’
‘Call her and tell her you’ll make your own way to the theatre.’ He produced a card from his pocket and placed it on the table beside her bed. ‘Ring that number when you want a car.’
‘Why?’
He sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘There are two reasons. If someone is trying to hurt you it’s almost certainly someone that you know.’
‘And you suspect Melanie? Are you mad?’
Even as she said it she remembered Melanie’s bitterness the night before. Then she gave a little gasp. How could she even think such a thing? Because. That was what suspicion did to you. It poisoned your mind, warped your thinking until you’d believe anything. It was what the letter writer wanted.
She pushed the black thought firmly away. ‘What was the other reason?’
‘If someone is trying to hurt you, you won’t want any of your family or friends to become unintentional victims.’ She said nothing. ‘I’m sorry, Claudia. The letter and the photograph might have been a nasty joke. The brakes weren’t. You’re going to have to take this seriously.’
‘Oh, come on...’ she began, then her voice died away. He meant it. He really and truly meant it. ‘How seriously?’
‘Very seriously. In fact until we discover who’s been sending you nasty notes, chopping up your photograph and interfering with your car, I’m going to have to insist on a few simple precautions. Transport is the most obvious.’ She picked up the card, turned it over. It didn’t bear a name, simply a telephone number. ‘Don’t worry if you’re not here when I get back, I’ll let myself in.’
‘Don’t you dare break in here again,’ she warned him.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I found a spare set of keys in the kitchen drawer.’ She was still staring after him as the front door clicked shut.
Claudia clambered from the bed, dragging the sheet with her as she flew down the hall to wrench on a bolt that had been painted over half a dozen times since it had been last used. It didn’t budge and she had to push the slider up and down several times to loosen it. Eventually it shifted under her determined onslaught and she slammed it home.
‘Get through that, Gabriel MacIntyre,’ she challenged him, with satisfaction.
Then, taking him at his word that she should trust no one, she tipped the tea he had so carefully made her down the sink and set a pot of coffee to drip before retreating to the bathroom where, with the door defiantly open, she took a leisurely shower, washed her hair and generally took her time about getting ready, indulging herself in a manner that the previous week’s training sessions had not allowed.
She was covering the bruise beneath her eye with cosmetic concealer when the telephone rang. She loved the telephone, enjoyed hearing from her friends. Now she stared at the instrument as if afraid that it might bite her.
The very anonymity of the caller seemed suddenly threatening. She had no idea who might be at the other end, what awful things they might say. As she eyed it suspiciously it rang again and she gave a little gasp of irritation at her pathetic response.
‘Sticks and stones...’ she muttered, picking up the receiver.
‘Claudia Beaumont,’ she answered, the firmness of her voice challenging anyone who thought she was an easy target to think again.
‘Heavens,’ Mel laughed. ‘You do sound fierce. You’re not still cross about those roses are you?’
‘Roses?’ She was shaken by the depth of her relief that the call was innocent. ‘Oh no. I was expecting the garage to ring,’ she lied. ‘I didn’t want them to think I was a pushover. Good party last night?’
‘Great,’ Mel enthused and Claudia winced. How could anyone be that eager so soon after getting up? Then she smiled ruefully at her own reflection. It wasn’t so long ago that she would have partied half the night away and still been button-bright the following morning. These days she didn’t even want to. It was a daunting thought. ‘The thing is, Claud,’ Mel was running on, ‘I met a guy who has some kind of radio show and he asked me to do an interview today so I won’t be able to pick you up.’ Claudia didn’t say anything, something had clammed her tongue. ‘Claud? Did you hear me?’
She too
k in a long breath. ‘Yes, Mel, I heard. Who’s show is it?’ she asked, casually.
‘Josh somebody. Roads?’
‘Oh, right. Josh Rhodes.’ For just a moment, for just one awful moment, she’d allowed herself to think that Gabriel MacIntyre was right. That someone was out to get her and that they’d invented some spurious show to get Melanie out of the way. But Josh Rhodes was a popular talk show host. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I can get a cab.’
As she hung up her glance fell on the card lying next to the telephone. She picked it up, tapped it against her thumb nail. Then, with a shrug of resignation, she dialled the number. Before it could ring, she slammed the receiver back onto its cradle and stepped back, glaring at the instrument as if it had personally done something to offend her.
This was no way to live. Jumping when the telephone rang, afraid to go out into the street. Whoever had written that note and planted the photograph had had their fun and she refused to be driven onto the defensive.
The garage had offered to loan her a car until hers was repaired or replaced. She’d take it and go home to Broomhill after the show tonight.
She needed time to think and she wanted to talk things over with Fizz. Her younger sister was down-to-earth, practical. If anyone would know the best way to handle this, she would. Decision made, she called the garage and then hauled an overnight bag down from the top of her wardrobe. Half an hour later, wearing a pair of black leggings with a vivid oversized silk jersey top that draped her figure provocatively in a manner designed to turn heads in the street, or anywhere else for that matter, she grabbed her bag and defiantly set her alarm before letting herself out the flat.
Gabriel MacIntyre could go and frighten someone else because one thing was certain. If the day came when she didn’t dare to step out of her own front door and hail a black cab, she’d enter a convent. The thought raised the smile that had been absent all morning and without another thought she walked to the corner, saw a cruising taxi and began to raise her arm.
Then, suddenly uncertain, she snatched her hand back and stood and watched it go by.
‘You’re an idiot, Claudia Beaumont,’ she said to herself, as it slowed to turn the corner. ‘I really can’t believe you just did that.’ And waving frantically she chased after it.
CHAPTER FOUR
CLAUDIA, already zipped into the overalls that she had been wearing the day before, was lacing up her boots when there was a tap on her dressing room door.
‘The car’s here to take you to the studios, Miss Claudia.’
‘Thanks, Jim. Tell the driver I’ll be with him in a couple of minutes, will you?’
She finished lacing the boots and checked her reflection in the full length mirror fastened to the wall. The bruise was showing nicely through a minimal layer of foundation, the jumpsuit was suitably crumpled and stained and her limp was sufficient to arouse sympathy without being grotesque. Barty would no doubt be thoroughly pleased with her.
She pulled a face. Pleasing Barty James came very low on her list of priorities.
After letting that first taxi go, she’d quickly pulled herself together and had determinedly shaken off the sense of unease that Mac had stirred up. All she had to do was get through the television appearance and the second house and then she was going to spend the rest of the weekend with Fizz and Luke.
Nothing could be more guaranteed to put her life back in perspective.
She picked up her handbag and walked out to the stage door. ‘Warn the front of house manager that it’s going to be a close run thing this evening will you, Jim? I’ve asked for my piece to be in the first part of the show, but I’ll ring if there’s a problem.’
‘I’ll let him know.’
She opened the door and stepped confidently into the early evening sunshine, her panic attack long since evaporated in warmth of sweet reason.
It was all so obvious. Adele, despite her denials, had tried to frighten her. Who else had the slightest reason to scare her? No one. Not one single person. It had to be Adele. She could understand that, even sympathise with her.
As for the brakes, well the manager of the garage had been reassuring. He clearly thought talk of the car being tampered with was the imaginings of a man out to impress a glamorous young woman. He’d as good as said as much, promising her a full report as soon as possible.
She’d wait for that rather than rely on the opinion of an amateur who seemed to suffer from delusions that he was James Bond.
A sleek black car was waiting at the curb, engine running and as she leaned forward to speak to the driver, her hair swung forward so that she sensed rather than saw the man who grabbed her round the waist, lifting her clean off her feet.
Before she could react, cry out, alert Jim on the other side of the stage door, a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was bundled unceremoniously into the rear seat. She struggled, but his arm was a band of steel around her waist and her back was jammed hard against his chest as they pulled rapidly away from the curb.
She was angry, she was incensed at the indignity of it, but she wasn’t fooled for a minute. Gabriel MacIntyre couldn’t scare her twice in twenty-four hours. She kicked back with her boot and connected in the most satisfactory manner with an unguarded shin. The hand at her mouth loosened and she bit down, hard.
‘You cat!’ Mac exploded as he released her.
She turned on him, furiously. ‘You’re lucky to have got off so lightly. What the hell do you think you’re playing at.’
‘Lightly?’ He sucked on the pad of his thumb, glaring at her over his hand.
She pushed back her hair, wriggling to the opposite end of the seat. ‘Well what did you expect? Another kiss for your trouble?’
‘I expected you to take the simplest of precautions for your own safety. You chose to ignore me.’
‘Of course I ignored you. You’re crazy.’
‘I’m crazy? I’m not the one on the receiving end of a threatening letter. And I’m not the one who with a sudden brake failure.’
‘Two quite unrelated incidents. I’m quite certain I know who was responsible for the first-’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Who?’
She didn’t bother to answer. Why would he believe her when his precious sister had already denied responsibility. ‘And the second was just some mechanical foul up,’ she concluded.
‘You’re a trained mechanic are you?’
She regarded him with irritation. He clearly thought he was helping, but he wasn’t. ‘Are you?’ she demanded.
‘I’d take any bet you care to offer that I know more about the internal workings of a motor car than you do, Claudia-’
‘I thought not.’
It was obvious from his expression that he wanted to put her over his knee and spank her. He was clearly having difficulty in restraining himself. Well, just let him try, she thought as he regarded her over his still smarting hand.
‘I simply suggested you take the most elementary precautions before you went out. It wasn’t much to ask.’
‘Why?’ She was genuinely curious. ‘As far as I can see the only danger I’m in is from you. This could be a genuine kidnapping attempt for all I know.’
‘Precisely.’ He glared at her.
‘So, how much do you think I’m worth?’ she asked, flippantly.
‘To me? Nothing. You’re a spoilt woman with nothing but her looks to commend her. To whoever’s trying to frighten you, hurt you? I don’t imagine money means anything at all. Perhaps you should give some serious thought as to what his motive might be. Then maybe you’ll we can discuss sensible precautions.’
‘Motive?’
‘Yes, damn it, motive. For heaven’s sake, Claudia, can’t you use the common sense you were born with? Or haven’t you got any?’
She ignored his attempts to scare her. She refused to be scared.
‘When I asked why, Mac, I meant why are you going to so much bother to offer your protection when you clearly don’t think I’m
worth my space on the pavement? I’ve made it more than plain that I don’t want you to? And as to common sense, let me tell you I’ve got more sense than to be scared witless by you three times in two days.’
‘Are you saying that you knew it was me back there? I don’t mean after the first panic when you had time to think. I mean at the very moment I grabbed you.’
‘Yes.’
He sat back, regarding her with disbelief written large on every feature. ‘How?’
A combination of things. The outdoor scent of the rough army sweater he was wearing, the hardness of his chest at her back, the girder-width of his shoulders as he pushed her into the car. The fact that he had avoided the bruised side of her face when he had covered her mouth.
‘I just knew, all right?’ Then, ‘This is crazy, Mac. Haven’t you got anything better to do than make my life difficult?’
‘Don’t blame the messenger, lady. I’m not the one making your life difficult.’
‘You underestimate yourself.’
‘No. But I think you’re underestimating a very real danger. If that had been a genuine snatch you’d have been out cold on the car floor before the door was closed. No kicking. No biting.’
‘No one is going to snatch me. No one wants to hurt me. Adele did the stuff with the photograph, she just doesn’t want to admit it and I can’t say I blame her.’ Claudia didn’t think Mac would be slow to make his feelings felt, no matter how pregnant his sister was.
He didn’t bother to argue. ‘And the brakes?’
‘The garage will send me a report. When I’ve got it, I’ll take whatever action seems appropriate.’ She pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Now, since this clearly isn’t the car Barty promised to send for me, but one from your tame taxi company, with a tame taxi driver who is following your orders, will you kindly tell him to take me to the television studios? I’ll be happy to drop you at the nearest Underground station.’
Mac grinned. ‘It really would be quite easy to like you, Claudia. You’re an idiot but you’ve got plenty of spirit.’
