by Liz Fielding
‘Claudia?’ Kay Abercrombie was standing on the front steps. ‘Are you all right, dear? Only you’ve been standing there for rather a long time.’
‘Have I?’ She knew she was smiling because the corners of her mouth were beginning to hurt with the effort. But at least she was smiling. So long as she kept doing that no one would know she was suffering from a strange new malady that she didn’t know how to deal with. ‘Just daydreaming, I’m afraid. It’s a terrible habit.’
‘Do you think so? Oh dear, I’m afraid I do it all the time. Now, before I forget, I was looking out for you because I’ve got a package for you.’
Something wobbled inside Claudia. A package. A letter. It wouldn’t matter. She would never be able to open one again without a sick feeling, a feeling that someone who meant her harm could reach out and touch her with his grubby little mind simply by putting an envelope through her door.
‘It came by courier,’ she said, stepping back to let Claudia into her flat. ‘It’s marked urgent.’ Claudia saw the label and realised that it was a television script her agent had promised to send her. Relief made her feel temporarily weak, a little giddy but Kay didn’t appear to notice. ‘Mr MacIntyre didn’t come back with you?’ she enquired, apparently disappointed not to see him. ‘He’s such a gentleman. He helped me with my suitcase you know.’
Claudia thought it was a pity that Kay hadn’t been home when the first anonymous letter had been delivered. Nothing got past her. ‘He was rather concerned that you had let him into the building without knowing who he was,’ she said.
‘He did warn me to be more careful, but he was so charming.’ Oh, really? Then Kay Abercrombie gave a little sigh. ‘Still, I suppose even burglars are kind to their mothers.’
Claudia, her nerves in shreds, her emotions strung out like a line of wet washing, was suddenly overcome with such a frightful urge to giggle that she had to turn it into a cough.
‘My goodness, Claudia, that’s sounds terrible. You should look after yourself better. I’ve got a very good linctus if you’d like some? Or I find lemon and honey very soothing? I brought some wonderful honey back from Wales last week, let me fetch you a jar-’
‘No, no. Thank you, Kay, but I have everything I need. Really.’ Well, not quite everything. But you couldn’t have everything. Life wasn’t like that. It was a balance of small compromises. To have one thing you sometimes had to give up something else. Gabriel had told her that. She hadn’t believed him at the time, but she suddenly saw what he meant. Independence meant making sacrifices. Love meant sacrifice too. If you were lucky you were given the choice. She lifted the package. ‘Thanks for taking this in. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’
‘Oh, yes dear. Don’t let me keep you. But if you want that honey you will say?’
‘I promise.’
Claudia ran up the stairs to her flat and without waiting to worry about what might be on the other side unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was quiet. Absolutely quiet. She keyed in the new code on the burglar alarm and then, with grim determination, shut the front door. She was alone. And that was how she wanted it. It was how she had always wanted it.
Except of course that everywhere she went there was some evidence of Gabriel’s presence.
A pile of cold toast in the kitchen. His razor mocking her from the bathroom shelf. The spare bedroom showed no trace of his presence, however. The was bed neatly made, his clothes put away.
She opened a cupboard, touched the neatly folded shirts, wondered briefly who had ironed them so thoroughly. Claudia realised just how little she knew about Gabriel MacIntyre. And it was all she would ever know.
A small anguished cry escaped her lips and she turned and fled from the room, throwing herself down on her bed, dragging the quilt up and over her head.
*****
Something brought her crashing from a dream in which unseen monsters snapped at her heels. It was the telephone. A new monster, unexpectedly threatening. For a moment she listened, petrified, then furious with herself, she flung herself at it on shaking legs. Before she reached it the intercept clicked in and the tape machine began to record. It was nothing more threatening than the television company wanting to know if she needed a car to pick her up from the theatre and to take her home after Late Date.
What had she expected? Whispered threats? Heavy breathing? The whole thing had got out of proportion. Whoever had been tormenting her had obviously been scared off by Gabriel MacIntyre. She didn’t need his protection any more she told herself, she didn’t want it. He would have to come back to collect his clothes; well he could collect everything else as well.
But not while she was there. She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face and pretend.
She had the number of his mobile phone, but she didn’t want to speak to him, either. She could ring Tony.
No. He was in enough trouble already and she didn’t want Adele upset again on her account, even if Gabriel was wrong and she had been the one to cut up her photograph and stuff it into the parachute pack.
Then she spotted the card that Mac had given her by the telephone, the one bearing the number of his “secure” taxi service. They seemed to pass messages along fast enough, Claudia remembered. She could call them. Now. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of her actions, she grabbed the telephone, dialled the number and began to speak the moment the call was answered.
‘This is Claudia Beaumont,’ she said, quickly. ‘Will you please inform Mr MacIntyre that he can collect his belongings while I am at the theatre tonight. I’d like him to disconnect his electronic equipment at the same time. Oh, and he can leave my spare keys in the kitchen. He knows where. I’ll expect an itemised account for his services in due course.’
Silence greeted this shaky outburst. Then, very softly, ‘I’ll see to it, Claudia.’
Gabriel? His voice shivered through her, there could be no mistake. Had he been expecting her to ring? Waiting for her to ring? She opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say. And then it was too late, because all she was listening to was the low burring of the dialling tone.
*****
Gabriel MacIntyre cut off the call with his finger, then slowly replaced the receiver.
‘Was that her?’
‘Yes.’ He turned away, unable to face his sister’s inquisitive eyes and stared out of the window. ‘You know you really shouldn’t be here, Adele,’ he said, not wanting to talk about Claudia. ‘You should be resting.’
‘If I was any more rested I’d be unconscious.’ She was lying back on an old sofa, cushions at her back, a notepad propped on her pregnant stomach, the telephone within easy reach. ‘You can have no idea how boring resting can be. And I’ve got my feet up, see?’
He turned obligingly and stared at her. ‘Where on earth did you find that dreadful piece of furniture? No other employer would put up with it.’
‘There isn’t another personal assistant in the country that would put up with you. Besides, you’re not just any employer, you’re my brother. And I’m on maternity leave.’
‘So you keep telling me, with monotonous regularity. So why are you here?’
‘Your temp seems to think you work a three day week so I suggested she find somewhere more suited to her social engagements.’
‘It won’t work, Adele. I’ve told you I won’t have you back once the baby’s arrived and I mean it.’
‘You don’t have any choice, Mac. Having a baby isn’t an adequate reason for you to sack me. I’m entitled to keep my job.’
Refusing to get into an argument with her, he changed the subject. ‘Where’s Tony?’
‘He’s flown to Amsterdam. Due back in time for supper. Which, by the way, he’ll be making.’
‘You’ve still got the poor dab on a regime of repentance, then?’
‘I might have known you would sympathise with him.’
‘I know better than to take sides but I know you and I know Tony. Don’t be too hard on him, little sister,
that baby you’re carrying needs two parents.’
‘Oh, I’m not that hard on him.’ Her smile was catlike. ‘He gets to rub my back after he’s washed up and done the ironing and I’m sure you think he should be doing those anyway. After all, they’re a lot harder work than answering your telephone. What did the glamorous Miss Claudia Beaumont want?’
Glamorous. What a catch-all adjective to describe someone like Claudia, Mac thought. It was a tabloid word, a meaningless label. Claudia Beaumont was a whole lot more than glamorous. ‘She wants me to move my things from the flat while she’s at the theatre tonight.’
‘You mean she hasn’t got the nerve to face you? To apologise for what she’s done?’
‘Oh, she’s got nerve, Adele. Buckets of it.’ He glanced at her. ‘You’d like her. You’ve got a lot in common.’
‘You mean apart from my husband?’
‘She doesn’t have Tony. She never did. She just needed someone to play a part.’ He didn’t want to think about that, about how far she would have been prepared to go to keep him hooked. Whether it would have mattered whether it had been him or Tony. ‘I simply meant that she agrees with you. Like all modern women she thinks that the right place for a baby is in some efficiently run creche so that the mother can get back to the really important thing in her life; her career.’ His jaw worked convulsively. ‘She even went so far as to suggest I find one for you.’
‘Mac, I’m not Jenny. You can’t punish me because of what she did.’ But he refused to respond to Adele’s gentle reproach and heard the small sigh as she let it go. ‘Well, maybe you’re right, maybe she’d be an ally. I have to admit, she’s got the male side of the family all sewn up. I certainly never thought I’d ever see my big brother kissing an actress on television.’ Her wide blue eyes were pure innocence. ‘You really looked as if you meant it, too.’
‘Did I?’ He turned back to the window. ‘Well, fourteen thousand pounds takes a lot of earning.’
‘You’re telling me it was hard work?’ she teased.
‘I’m not telling you anything.’ But his sister was right. He had meant it. His hands gripped the sill. He hadn’t realised until it was too late, just how comprehensively he’d meant it. But there was one thing he needed to say. ‘Claudia didn’t know Tony was married,’ he said.
Adele knew better than to point out that this was the third time he had changed the subject in as many minutes. ‘Would it have mattered?’ she asked, doodling idly on the pad.
‘Oh, yes. It would have mattered.’ He knew that. He’d seen her face when he’d told her. It would most certainly have mattered. She had a moral code of sorts. Unfortunately it didn’t extend to the use of idiotic men who went out of their way to make things easy for her.
‘You’re very quick to leap to her defence considering the way she’s treated you.’
‘She’s got her faults, but that’s not one of them.’
Adele heaved herself to her feet and joined him at the window. ‘It seems she’s found herself a champion, Mac. I hope she’s worth it.’ She glanced at his hands, noted the whiteness of his knuckles. ‘Tell me about her, she must be something rather special.’
Something rather special. He’d certainly thought so. Before he discovered that he was being dangled like bait by her publicity machine, that when she kissed him, she was simply ensuring his undivided attention for as long as she wanted it. And it had worked. She had it. He watched absently as a twin-engine plane touched lightly down on the runway.
‘It looks as if Tony couldn’t wait for supper.’
Adele knew her brother too well to push him. But she knew he was hurting. It was enough to make her wish she had chopped Claudia Beaumont’s photograph into little pieces, but she said nothing, simply looped an arm through his, hugging it as they watched the taxiing aircraft. ‘I do like a man to be eager. I asked him to bring me some tulips. Do you think he remembered?’
Mac glanced down at her, a small frown puckering his forehead. ‘Isn’t it the wrong time of year for tulips?’
‘Oh, yes, but it’s a test of his ingenuity and creativeness.’ Her smiled became enigmatic, mysterious. ‘If he’s clever, it could be his lucky night.’
‘Then, for his sake, I hope he lives up to your expectations.’
‘So do I, Mac. So do I. Shall I switch the ‘phones over to the night service before I go?’
‘Yes, if you would.’ He turned and looked at his desk. ‘Was there anything in the mail that needed my attention?’
‘No, it was pretty much routine stuff, nothing I couldn’t handle. Security sent over a list of people who were checked onto the airfield last week. They said you had asked for it?’
‘I did,’ he said, refusing to gratify her curiosity. But it no longer mattered. The mystery was solved. Cleared up. Tidied away. He’d done everything that was expected of him when he had publicly assaulted David Hart, right on cue. His only regret was that he hadn’t actually hit the man, laid him out on the carpet. He caught himself rubbing his fist into his palm. It was the second time in as many days he’d wanted to hit someone because of Claudia. ‘But it’s not urgent.’
‘Well, it’s on your desk. Oh, and there’s an envelope marked “personal”, but it’s from your garage so they’re probably trying to tempt you into buying a new four wheel drive. Now that you’ve battered the Landcruiser.’
‘Then they’re out of luck. I’ve booked it in for repair.’
Adele was standing in the doorway watching him. ‘Are you all right, Mac?’
‘Fine, sweetheart. I’m fine.’ He made himself smile. ‘Don’t keep Tony waiting.’
Adele lingered anxiously in the doorway so he turned to his desk, picked up the envelope with its enticing “personal” sticker and ripped it open. ‘You’re right,’ he lied, ‘it’s an invitation to take a test drive in their latest model.’
‘They never miss a trick. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
‘No, you won’t. I’m going to tell security not to let you back on the airfield. Of course you could try climbing the fence.’
She would have risen to this challenge before her pregnancy. Now, scarcely able to climb the stairs, she stared at him in absolute fury for a moment before flouncing off as he had known she would. With any luck she’d go and cry on Tony’s shoulder. It would do them both good.
He raised his head from the report he was holding to watch her progress across the hangar. Perhaps flounced was not quite the right word. She was waddling. In the manner of an outraged duck.
As he watched her, he remembered the confident way that Claudia had handled Heather. How would she handle this problem, he wondered? He rather wished that he could ask her advice. Then he called himself every kind of fool, because even if he could, Claudia wouldn’t help him. Her sympathy would be with Adele.
He looked down paper in his hand. It was the report he’d commissioned on Claudia’s car and he opened it up. Not that it mattered any more. It was just that he was interested to know what kind of risk she was prepared to take in the pursuit of publicity. Probably not that much.
He’d thought she was crazy to go ahead with the jump after receiving an anonymous death threat. That alone should have sent the warning signals to his brain. Except that from the first moment she looked up at him with those big silver eyes his brain appeared to have taken a holiday, leaving the thinking in the doubtful care of his libido.
His libido had been having a field day.
He scanned the report from the garage. It was inconclusive. After the scene at lunchtime he had expected nothing else. It was certain that brake fluid had been escaping before the accident. There appeared to have been a badly fitted connection, there were scratches that suggested it had been adjusted since the car had left the factory and it had most probably jarred free when she drove across the speed bumps at the entrance to the airfield.
In the inspector’s view, Miss Beaumont’s car should be replaced without cost to her or her insurance company, and a cl
aim should be made directly against the garage for damage to Mr MacIntyre’s property. Miss Beaumont would no doubt take legal advice about claiming for distress and injury caused by negligence.
Mac thought about the car Claudia had been driving. It wasn’t some mass produced vehicle, but had been hand-built by craftsmen and there was a waiting list of years to get hold of a new one. A badly fitted connection seemed extremely unlikely. The manufacturers would certainly say so and once their engineers had looked at the brake line they would, he imagined, tell Miss Claudia Beaumont and her claim for negligence to take a running jump.
But he doubted that the manufacturers would ever see the car. Or that any claim would be made. He hoped the television company’s publicity budget was a healthy one because it seemed to him, in the light of his newly-acquired hindsight, far more credible that some bright mechanic had been waiting a mile or two up the road from the airfield to loosen the joint. He’d seen the fresh tool marks for himself, marks that had sent him racing to warn her of the danger she was in.
He tore the report in two and dropped it in the bin. He’d leave his insurance company to fight out who paid for what. He didn’t want to get involved.
He’d momentarily lost his head, behaved out of character; he hadn’t even questioned Devlin’s sincerity when he had asked him to look after Claudia. He’d swallowed the deception like a hungry fish because he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to keep her safe, to protect her, to cherish her; all those things and more, much more.
All quite remarkable considering that when he had stood over Jenny’s grave he had promised himself he would never involve himself again with a woman driven to achieve, so driven that she couldn’t think of anything or anyone else, not even her unborn child.
His body was racked with a convulsive shiver and for a moment Mac closed his eyes as the pain skewered through him because he knew that Claudia must be driven by some desperate demon.
It took a special kind of selfishness to use people the way she had used him, a special kind of vanity. And knowing that should make it easy to walk away.
