The Sex War

by Charlotte Lamb

  She smiled at him and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. 'I know—thanks.'

  He put his head round the door of the sitting-room to say goodnight to Alice, who looked at him in startled surprise.. 'Oh, yes, goodnight, thank you for…' Her voice trailed off and Aston smiled at her.

  'Try to get some sleep, remember your children will need you tomorrow.'

  Tears came into her eyes again and Lindsay pushed Aston down the hall. 'Sorry, said the wrong thing,' he whispered, and she shook her head, then opened the front door.

  'Of course not, don't be an idiot. She's just off balance.'

  He caught her head between his hands, looked down into her face, his hazel eyes smiling. 'Did I tell you I think you're gorgeous and I'm crazy about you?'

  'Goodnight, Aston,' Lindsay said.

  He kissed her mouth lightly, then released her and walked out of the house into the dark night. She stood in the doorway, a yellow stream of light falling down the drive in his wake, and watched him climb into his car. The engine flared and he drove off. Lindsay closed the front door and went back to Alice who was sitting on the couch staring at nothing, her legs curled up under her, her hand propping up her head.

  As Lindsay sat down next to her, Alice said; 'If I only knew what had happened to him, where he was… not knowing is the worst, I think I could even stand it if I knew for certain he had gone off with another woman or just left me because he was tired of me. I could bear anything but this, I keep trying to think, going round and round in circles getting nowhere.' ,

  'You ought to try to get some sleep—you're exhausted. I'll stay up in case there's any news and I'll come and wake you if…'

  'No,' Alice said. 'I couldn't sleep, I'd never be able to close my eyes. I can't shut off my head. Lindsay, what if he's d…'

  'Don't say it!' Lindsay said sharply, wincing. 'Don't even think it, of course he isn't.'

  The door bell rang briskly. Alice stumbled to her feet, white as a sheet, her eyes widening until her skin stretched tightly over her cheekbones. She looked old, suddenly. Lindsay wanted to cry, but she forced herself to stay calm.

  'I'll go, it's probably the police to ask you a few questions,' she said.

  She took a deep breath before she opened the front door. What if the police had bad news for them? There was no point in thinking about it. She pulled the door open and made herself look at the man on the doorstep, only to feel a deep thrust of shock as she recognised him. Even in that shadowy light Daniel Randall was unmistakable, then he stepped forward into the yellow light from the hallway and his hard-boned, arrogant face came into full view. Lindsay was stricken, she couldn't speak or move, she half believed she was imagining things. He was the very last man she had expected to see.

  CHAPTER TWO

  'Cat got your tongue?' Daniel looked at her stunned face with a derisive smile, and the question broke the spell of disbelief holding her rigid. She felt a wave of hot colour rushing up to her hairline. What was he doing here? She hadn't set eyes on him for over a year, why had he turned up like this tonight?

  'What do you want?' She stepped sideways to block his way; she didn't want him walking into the house and saw no reason why she should pretend he was welcome.

  'As quick-witted as ever, I see,' he drawled, and the way he spoke was all too familiar. Daniel Randall always used that slow, iced voice when he wanted to make someone feel stupid; he was a past master at destroying people and using the simplest means to do it—a lifted eyebrow, a smile, a drily succinct comment.

  Lindsay wanted to hit him, and that feeling was familiar, too; hostility was the safest emotion to feel towards Daniel Randall.

  'What the hell do you think I'm doing here?' he asked before she could say anything. 'And are we going to stand here much longer? I'm not a door-to-door salesman, I don't enjoy talking on people's doorsteps.'

  Over his shoulder Lindsay saw his car parked under a street-lamp, a sleek, powerful white sports car with elegant lines which had been carefully designed for effortless speed. For some reason, the sight of it annoyed her.

  'Get back in your car and hit the road, I've got nothing to say to you,' she snapped, closing the door. Daniel's foot met it and the door jarred. Lindsay glared at him through the opening. 'Go away!'

  'Don't be a fool, Lindsay,' he said, and at that moment a car roared up behind his and parked with a screech. Someone leapt out of it and Daniel looked round, frowning.

  'Get inside,' he said to Lindsay, thrusting her back into the hall with a violence which stopped her arguing. Daniel followed her and slammed the front door behind him.

  'What…' Lindsay began furiously, and he gave her a sarcastic smile.

  'Want to talk to the press, do you?'

  Her mouth opened and nothing came out. The front door bell rang, but Daniel ignored it. He walked towards the sitting-room, catching Lindsay's arm en route and pulling her in his wake, struggling to free herself without success. The door bell went on ringing and Alice stared at them, pale-faced, wide-eyed, nervous apprehension in the way she stood there.

  'What's wrong? What's happening? Aren't you going to answer the door? Lindsay…' Her voice died away as she recognised Daniel.

  'Hallo, Alice,' he said in a gentle voice, and smiled at her. When he chose, Daniel could give out charm and warmth; his grey eyes held both now, and Lindsay resented the way Alice relaxed and smiled back.

  'Daniel! I didn't realise it was you, how are you?'

  'I'm fine, how are you? Any news of Stephen yet?'

  Her lower lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth, her eyes too bright, 'No…'

  'How do you know Stephen's missing?' Lindsay asked suspiciously, staring at him.

  He turned that wry glance on her, his eyebrows raised. 'A reporter told me.'

  'I thought you never talked to reporters.'

  'I wouldn't have talked to this one if he hadn't convinced Henshaw that I'd want to speak to him.'

  'Really?' Lindsay asked with sarcasm in her voice. 'That was clever of him, how did he do that?' Daniel's London home was run by a married couple who were far too well trained to talk to the press. What could a reporter have said to one of them to make them think Daniel would want to speak to him?

  'He told Henshaw you were in serious trouble and the police were involved,' Daniel said drily, and Lindsay was stunned.

  'He did what?' She was so angry she could scarcely speak, and Daniel laughed briefly at her expression.

  'Once he was actually put through to me, of course, he came across with the truth about Stephen vanishing; by then he'd achieved his object.'

  'What a rotten trick!' Lindsay exclaimed and Daniel shrugged.

  'You should know by now that reporters can be unscrupulous in pursuit of a good story.'

  'You're a fine one to talk about scruples,' Lindsay muttered, turning her anger in his direction. 'You wouldn't know a scruple if one came up and bit you!'

  'Watch yourself!' There was the hiss of rage in Daniel's soft voice, and Alice took a step backwards in alarm, but Lindsay refused to budge, meeting his cold stare without blinking. She wasn't afraid of him, she meant him to know it, and her chin lifted defiantly. Other people might back off when he gave them that narrow-eyed look; in the past she had often done so too, but not any more, he needn't imagine he could frighten her with that air of controlled menace which he was so expert at giving out.

  How did he do it? It wasn't just his height and build, other men of his physical type didn't have that effect—it was the mind behind that tautly structured face that was so disturbing.

  Just over six foot, Daniel Randall was lean and tightly muscled; a man with a deep chest and wide shoulders which breathed power, but whose height added elegance to the impression he left, those long slim legs and supple hips moving with grace. Lindsay had often watched people watching him, seen the way women's eyes followed him. At first it had made her glow with pride, but in the end she had resented it; it underlined for her the fact that Daniel Randall
was not a domesticated man, he was not cut out to be anybody's husband, he was a ruthless predator at home in the jungle of his own choosing.

  Alice had backed until she sat down on the couch. Daniel detached his eyes from Lindsay and went over to sit down next to Alice, taking one of her hands between both of his.

  'Now, Alice,' he said, one long sinewy thumb stroking the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm, 'what's this all about? Why has Stephen gone off?'

  'I don't know,' said Alice, her voice high. She was grey, tired, her eyes great pools in that colourless face. 'He didn't come home last night, that's all I know.'

  The door bell rang again, someone had his thumb, on the bell and wasn't lifting it. Daniel turned his head, a flash of rage in his eyes.

  'I'll knock that guy's teeth down his throat if he keeps that up much longer!'

  'Maybe it's the police,' said Alice, stiffening.

  'It's the reporter who was here before,' Lindsay told her in a flat tone. 'I recognised him.' She glanced at Daniel and then away. 'He must have been the one who rang you. He tried to talk his way in here earlier and I shut the door on him.'

  Daniel detached himself from Alice, getting up. 'What are you going to do?' Lindsay asked, frowning. 'Don't lose your temper, if you hit him it will be all over Fleet Street tomorrow morning.'

  'I'm going to ring the police,' Daniel said curtly. 'Alice has a right to be left alone in her own home, they can send someone over here to keep the press away.'

  'They're shorthanded,' Lindsay told him.

  'They told me so when I rang to tell them Stephen was missing. They won't be able to spare anybody to stand outside here all night.'

  Daniel stared at her, then turned and went out. Lindsay followed and watched him pick up the phone. 'What are you going to do?' she asked again, and he gave her a dry smile.

  'I'm getting a couple of men to mount guard over the house until this blows over.'

  He dialled and Lindsay went back into the sitting-room, hearing his deep cool voice talking in the hall as she sat down next to Alice.

  'Stephen won't like it if this gets into, the newspapers,' Alice warned.

  'He should have thought of that before he went off without telling you where he was going.' Lindsay found herself see-sawing between worry about her brother and impatience with him, her fear kept turning into anger and she could understand why Alice wouldn't go to bed. How could anyone rest when their husband was missing? She heard Daniel replace the phone and walk back towards them. Her reactions to his appearance on the scene were confused too; she was relieved to have him take charge and start organising events, but she was irritated that he should feel he had the right to do so. It was all part of that calm arrogance which she found insupportable—who did he think he was?

  'I've got some sleeping tablets in my bag, why don't you take one and try to get some sleep, Alice?' she asked her sister-in-law, who frowned petulantly, her forehead lined.

  'I couldn't—no, how can I go to sleep not knowing…'

  Daniel halted in the middle of the room, listening. 'That's a very good idea,' he said, cutting into her stammered sentence. 'Give Alice the pill, Lindsay. Alice, go upstairs, have a warm bath and get into bed, then Lindsay will bring you some hot milk and you can take her pill and get off to sleep.'

  Alice would have argued, but he bent and took her arm in a firm grip, hoisted her to her feet and smiled at her.

  'If Stephen was here, that's what he would tell you to do. We'll wake you up the minute there's any news.' He led her to the door and Lindsay followed, watching them wryly. His cool assumption that Alice would obey him was maddening, especially as it was working. Alice reluctantly began to climb the stairs. She paused as the door bell rang again and Daniel said: 'Off you go, Alice,' his voice insistent. Alice went, dragging herself upwards like a weary child. Looking round, Daniel said to Lindsay: 'Get her that milk and stay until she's taken her pill, make sure she swallows it.'

  'Yes, sir,' Lindsay muttered through her teeth, bristling, but her antagonism merely made his brows lift.

  'Don't you want her to get a few hours' sleep?'

  'Of course I do, I just object to being ordered around as if I was a halfwit.'

  He smiled. 'Well, you said it. Anyone with any sense would have got her off to bed hours ago, she's on the verge of breaking up into a hundred little pieces.'

  'Do you think I couldn't see that? I tried to talk her into going to bed, but she wouldn't hear of its and I could hardly make her go.'

  'I managed it,' shrugged Daniel, and Lindsay felt like screaming, his self-satisfaction put her teeth on edge. She turned on her heel and went into the kitchen to heat some milk. Daniel came into the room a moment later, he had shed his smoothly tailored camelhair overcoat and was running a hand over the ruffled black hair as she turned to look at him.

  'Now that we've got Alice out of earshots tell me what you know—why has your brother gone off like this?' He got a kitchen chair and sat down on it, astraddle, his arms folded across the back of it and his chin resting on the dark sleeves of his formal suit. She wondered what he had been doing this evening—had he been dining out? A business evening, or a private one? Had he been with a woman? The elegance of the suit, the crisp white shirt and wine silk tie suggested that he had been with a woman, but Lindsay refused to think about that, it was none of her business any more.

  'I don't know .any more than Alice. Stephen didn't come home from work last night and there hasn't been a word from him to explain why he's gone away. Alice says they haven't quarrelled, she doesn't know about any business worries he might have, she hasn't a clue why he's gone.' Lindsay watched the milk beginning to bubble in the small saucepan. 'She did say she wouldn't be surprised if it was another woman, but I don't believe it. Stephen isn't the unfaithful sort.'

  'What sort is that?' Daniel asked drily. 'He's a man, isn't he? He isn't a saint, it could happen to anyone.'

  'Don't judge my brother by your standards!' snapped Lindsay with a bite in her voice. The milk was beginning to boil now, she took the saucepan off the hob and poured the milk into a tall glass, stirred it with the spoon. 'Stephen loves Alice, I don't believe this has anything to do with another woman. I think it's something to do with the business.'

  Daniel nodded, his chin still on his arms. 'You're probably right. What was the name of that accountant who worked at the factory? The old guy with the grey hair and rimless spectacles?'

  'Mr Datchet?' Lindsay was surprised by his memory. She hadn't even thought of asking Henry Datchet, although now she realised that if there was any trouble at the factory he would know all about it.

  'Datchet,' agreed Daniel, nodding as he stood up. 'That's the guy. Take that milk to Alice, I'll get in touch with Datchet and see if he can provide any answers.'

  She followed him into the hall, balancing the milk on a saucer. 'I don't know his address.' He picked up the telephone directory, giving her a sarcastic smile. 'I'll find him,' he said, and Lindsay went upstairs without a Word. She was sure he would—Daniel Randall always managed to do what he wanted to do.

  She found Alice just climbing into bed in a short pink nylon nightie printed with little white flowers. She looked small and helpless and childlike as she settled against the pillows, her russet hair damp from her bath, the edges of it curling around her pale face.

  'Drink this and take the pill, then try to sleep,' Lindsay said gently. It was hard to believe that the girl in the bed was the mother of two children, her usual quiet confidence had all been erased by worry.

  Alice took the pill reluctantly, sipped the milk, her throat moving as she swallowed it, then she lay down and Lindsay switched off the light. 'Goodnight, we'll be downstairs if you need us and we'll wake you up the minute there's any news.'

  She heard Alice sigh as she closed the door, then Alice turned over and the bed rustled. Lindsay quietly went downstairs.

  Daniel was still talking on the phone, propping himself up against the wall with one brown
hand. His skin was slightly sallow and took the sun easily, retained that tan longer than most people seem to do, which threw his light grey eyes into more prominence, their silvery gleam sliding sideways to watch Lindsay as she walked past. She felt a shiver run down her spine and looked away. She did not want to be aware of Daniel Randall in that way; there was too much sensual assessment in his glance. She felt it even with her back towards him, those cynical eyes seemed to burn a hole into her head.

  'I see,' he was saying. 'That would explain it, of course. How much leeway does he have?' There was a little silence, then he whistled softly. 'Mr Datchet, could you come over here first thing tomorrow morning with the books? I think we should have a quiet discussion with the figures in front of us.'

  Lindsay stood just inside the sitting-room, listening, her brows drawn.

  'I understand and I admire your integrity,' Daniel said a moment later, 'but I assure you it will be in Mr Grainger's best interests, Mrs Grainger will be here, you could talk to her before you talk to me.' He paused again, then said: 'Yes, of course. I perfectly understand your position, but this is a matter of urgency. Don't you agree? If it will help you to make up your mind, ring the bank, ask their advice—after all, it's their money which is at stake,' Another silence, then he said: 'Good, I'll expect you at ten o'clock, then. Goodnight, Mr. Datchet.'

  A moment later, Daniel sauntered into the sitting-room, his hands in his pockets, whistling softly, the lazy air of satisfaction he wore making Lindsay's nerves jump. She didn't trust him, particularly when he smiled to himself like that. What was he up to?

  'Well?' she demanded, and he eyed her with distinct mockery.

  'Well, what? Oh, Datchet? He was being pretty cagey, but he did admit that Stephen had a hefty bank loan outstanding which falls due in a week or so. Datchet wraps everything up in sub-clauses like a lawyer, but I gathered that Stephen didn't have a hope in hell of repaying it and he's been trying to raise the money for weeks without any success. Until I see the books I won't have any idea whether the firm's on the rocks or not, but it's clear enough that Stephen is in serious trouble. Datchet seemed very worried.'