Shadowed Stranger

by Carole Mortimer

  He came over to look at the casserole and the pie. ‘What’s this?’ he rasped, his eyes narrowed.

  Heavens, anyone would think they were trying to poison him! ‘What does it look like?’ she derided, sighing at his blank expression. ‘It’s food, Mr Howarth. Chicken,’ she indicated the deepest dish. ‘Apple,’ she pointed to the other one.

  ‘What’s it doing here?’

  ‘My mother thought you were in need of sustenance.’ She gave the impression that she personally couldn’t give a damn if he expired of starvation in front of her eyes.

  His mouth tightened, his eyes glacial. ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Mrs Castle. She runs the village shop,’ Robyn explained with sarcastic patience.

  ‘Ah yes, I remember her,’ he nodded, his gaze sharpening. ‘And who gave her the impression that I looked in need of being fed?’

  Once again colour stained her cheeks. ‘Well—I—’

  ‘You did,’ he accused. ‘Well, I don’t need any hand-outs, Miss Castle,’ he told her furiously, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘So you can tell your mother—’

  ‘No, Mr Howarth, you can tell her, when you return the dishes.’ She walked to the door, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘I’m certainly got going to tell her what an ungrateful swine you are!’ and she flung open the door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he ground out, grasping her arm in exactly the same place as before, adding further bruises she was sure. ‘Don’t be in such a hurry to leave.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to leave.’

  ‘You were rude about my mother,’ she flared. ‘She was only trying to be friendly, and you threw her gesture back in her face.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ He let go of her arm, running a hand round the back of his neck in a weary gesture, looking down helplessly at the casserole. ‘Maybe I was a little ungrateful.’

  ‘A little?’ she scoffed.

  ‘Okay, I was rude,’ he accepted with a sigh.

  ‘You were, very.’

  His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile, the first lessening of his harshness that she had seen. ‘Don’t go over the top, Miss Castle,’ he drawled. ‘Just tell me what I have to do with this,’ he indicated the casserole, ‘to be able to eat it.’

  Robyn frowned. ‘You heat it up.’

  ‘How?’ he asked helplessly.

  She searched his hard face for any sign of mockery, but could see none. ‘You really don’t know how?’

  ‘I would hardly be asking if I did,’ he derided.

  ‘But I—You—Surely you must have been eating something in the time you’ve been here?’ She was incredulous at the thought of him not eating at all, although the whipcord leanness of him didn’t seem to indicate that he had been over-indulging.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘The odd sandwich. And apples.’ He held up the apples he had brought in with him. ‘My dinner—I ran out of bread this morning.’

  Robyn shook her head. ‘That’s ridiculous! What are you trying to do, kill yourself?’

  Rick Howarth’s face darkened. ‘Mind your own damned business, Miss Castle,’ he rasped angrily, his features once again hard. ‘My eating habits are none of your concern.’

  ‘My comment wasn’t meant literally,’ she told him coldly, her head held high in challenge. ‘Although you don’t look well,’ she added daringly, waiting for the explosion.

  It didn’t come; his face was suddenly pale. ‘I don’t feel well,’ he admitted shakily, swaying slightly on his feet.

  Robyn rushed to his side, her arm going supportively about his waist. Although if he did pass out she would never be able to hold him up! ‘Sit down,’ she instructed firmly, envisaging an argument and not getting one as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked concernedly.

  ‘I told you, I had the last of the bread this morning.’

  She really didn’t like the look of him, he was very pale. ‘How much?’ she probed.

  He shrugged. ‘One slice, I think.’

  ‘And before that?’

  ‘I had some apples yesterday,’ he said after a moment’s thought.

  Robyn sighed. ‘No wonder you’re feeling weak! I’ll heat up the casserole for you if you’ll just sit there.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘I wasn’t thinking of going anywhere.’

  She was conscious of him watching her as she moved about the kitchen, miraculously finding a saucepan, a plate and some cutlery. The cooker was a very old model, probably left here by old Mrs Bird who had last lived here. But at least the cooker worked, that was something.

  She turned round to find Rick Howarth still watching her, obviously completely recovered from the weakness that had suddenly washed over him. ‘Will you stop staring at me?’ she said irritably, muttering to herself as she burnt her finger on the rim of the saucepan. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she accused crossly, backing away as he stood up to come towards her, very dark and overwhelming in the close confines of this small room.

  ‘Let me see.’ He held out his hand for hers.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘I want to see,’ he repeated firmly.

  Robyn thrust her hand at him, gritting her teeth as he took his time inspecting it. She surreptitiously watched him beneath lowered lashes. He really was a very handsome individual, so much so that it gave her the butterflies just to be near him. But there was a mystery about him, one that made her feel nervous of being alone with him like this. After all, she didn’t know the first thing about him.

  His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Just a superficial burn.’ He dropped her hand, his touch having been gentle but firm.

  ‘I could have told you that!’ She turned back to the cooker, her emotions disturbed as she served the casserole on to a plate before putting it down on the table.

  ‘Thanks.’ He sat down and began eating, slowly at first, and then with increasing appetite. ‘This is very good,’ he looked up long enough to say appreciatively.

  ‘I’m sure my mother will be glad to hear that,’ Robyn snapped sarcastically.

  He sighed. ‘Look, I’ve apologised—’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ she instantly contradicted, placing black unsugared coffee in front of him, having found an old tin kettle that she had boiled the water up in on the top of the cooker, but unable to find milk or sugar. The store-cupboard contained only coffee, the refrigerator was completely empty.

  ‘Maybe I haven’t,’ he accepted grudgingly. ‘But precocious kids—’

  ‘Kid!’ she cut in indignantly, her eyes blazing.

  Rick Howarth smiled at her reaction, looking a lot less grim now that he had eaten something. ‘All right, schoolchildren of an indiscriminate age—’

  She drew an angry breath. ‘I’m not a schoolgirl, Mr Howarth. I’m eighteen.’

  His gaze ran insolently over her slender body. ‘You aren’t very filled out for an eighteen-year-old.’

  ‘And you’re the scruffiest individual I’ve ever seen,’ she told him furiously, angered by his outspoken insults. She might not be voluptuous, but she had all the right curves in the right places—even if he was blind to them.

  ‘I am, aren’t I?’ he agreed with casual acceptance.

  ‘Yes!’ she snapped. ‘And your hair needs cutting too.’

  He sat back, his plate empty. ‘What are you like as a barber?’

  Her eyes widened to large violet orbs. ‘I’m not offering to cut your hair for you!’

  ‘I’m asking.’

  ‘But I—I don’t even know you!’

  His smile was mocking. ‘Do you have to know someone before you can cut their hair?’

  She was near exploding point at his audacity. ‘I came over here to return your money—Oh goodness,’ she groaned, ‘I haven’t given it to you.’ She took it out of her pocket and put it on the table. ‘I didn’t need it after all,’ she explained. ‘Besid
es, this was much too much.’

  He made no effort to pick up the money, almost as if it meant nothing to him. ‘How come you didn’t use it?’

  ‘Dad took one off another bike we had. Anyway, as I was saying, I only came here to return that money and deliver the food—’

  ‘Talking of food—’ he eyed the apple pie she had just taken from the oven.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she slammed the dish down on the table. ‘I didn’t come here to act as your cook or to cut your hair!’

  ‘Your mother really is a very good cook.’ He quirked one dark eyebrow. ‘I don’t suppose you can cook as well?’

  Robyn flushed. ‘Not as well, no. Why, were you thinking of offering me a job as your housekeeper?’ she scorned.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘It’s a lousy idea. Look, I have to go now. I’ve been here far too long already.’ Her parents would wonder what on earth she was doing over here all this time.

  ‘What about my hair?’ he drawled.

  ‘Go to a professional barber,’ Robyn advised impatiently. ‘I have to get home now, it’s starting to get dark.’

  Rick Howarth stood up, looking infinitely more relaxed than when she had first arrived. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he offered.

  ‘There’s no need. It isn’t far,’ she babbled. ‘I can quite easily walk.’

  ‘I said I’ll drive you. I wouldn’t like you to get attacked on the way.’

  ‘In Sanford?’ she derided.

  ‘Anywhere,’ he said seriously. ‘There are woods on the way back to your home, you could be dragged in there and no one would be any the wiser.’

  ‘Thanks!’ her mouth twisted derisively. ‘If I felt all right about it before I certainly don’t now!’

  He opened the door for her. ‘Okay, let’s go.’ He moved to unlock the car door.

  ‘Shouldn’t you lock up the house?’ she asked once they were seated in the car.

  He eyes her with some amusement. ‘There’s nothing in there for anyone to take.’ He manoeuvred the car out of the driveway into the road.

  Robyn frowned. ‘Why don’t you have any furniture?’

  His mouth tightened. ‘How do you know I don’t?’ he asked suspiciously.

  She swallowed hard, realising her mistake too late. ‘I—er—I—’

  ‘So you went prying around my home,’ he said harshly, his face rigid with anger. ‘I should have known, I suppose. All women are the same, aren’t they, you just can’t leave a man’s privacy alone.’

  Robyn gasped at his accusations. ‘I only looked—’

  ‘Because you were damned nosey,’ he rasped.

  ‘No—’

  ‘Yes!’ His teeth snapped together angrily.

  ‘Please, Mr Howarth—’

  He drew the car to a halt. ‘This is your home, isn’t it?’ he said coldly, staring straight ahead of him.

  She looked about them in a daze the short drive to her home seemed to have taken no time at all. ‘I—Yes. But—’

  ‘Goodnight, Miss Castle. Thank your mother for me.’

  ‘I—Yes, yes I will.’ She scrambled out of the car. ‘I just wish you would let me explain.’

  ‘There’s nothing to explain.’ He accelerated the Jaguar forward with a screech of the tyres, the passenger door slamming closed with the force of the speed.

  Whew! What a volatile man—one minute almost human, the next back to the cold hard stranger she had first encountered. Admittedly she had no right to be walking around his home, but if she hadn’t been worried as to his whereabouts she wouldn’t have done such a thing.

  ‘You’ve been gone a long time, dear.’ Her mother looked up from her knitting as Robyn entered the lounge. ‘Have you been round to Kay’s?’

  How she would have liked to have used her friend as an excuse, to have avoided all the curious questions that were bound to be asked once her family learnt she had been with Rick Howarth for the last hour and a half. But she couldn’t deliberately lie.

  She sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘Mr Howarth wasn’t feeling too well—’

  ‘Oh dear,’ her mother frowned. ‘He isn’t ill, is he?’

  ‘No, it was just lack of food.’

  ‘Did he eat what I sent him?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I was so long. I—I wanted to make sure he ate it.’

  ‘Very wise,’ her mother nodded thoughtfully. ‘I don’t like to see a man starve himself for any. reason.’

  Somehow Robyn didn’t think Rick Howarth was in the habit of going without his food. But she didn’t think he was in the habit of getting it himself either! He had been totally lost in the kitchen, and she would swear that he hadn’t used the cooker once in the three weeks he had been in residence. He was obviously used to someone getting his food for him, which pointed to him having a woman somewhere in the background of his life. Or he had would be more appropriate, because he was very much alone now. Maybe his marriage had broken up—a man of his age was sure to be married, which would account for his bitterness towards women.

  ‘Well, at least he has a hot meal inside him now,’ she told her mother. ‘He said to thank you, and that you’re a very good cook.’

  Her mother flushed her pleasure. It wasn’t often she received compliments on her cooking; her family all took such a luxury for granted, although they soon complained if there was anything wrong with it.

  ‘I think he should get himself a housekeeper,’ her mother said absently.

  Robyn didn’t tell her that Rick Howarth had half-heartedly offered her such a position. ‘There isn’t anything to “keep” in that house.’ She bit her lip, realising she was being indiscreet. Rick Howarth certainly wouldn’t thank her for discussing him in this way.

  Her father peered over the top of his newspaper. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked in a puzzled voice.

  She shrugged. ‘He doesn’t have a lot of furniture, that’s all. But as he’s alone I don’t suppose he needs it.’ She stood up. ‘I think I’ll go and wash my hair.’ She hurriedly left the room, reluctant to talk about Rick Howarth any more.

  Unfortunately everyone else seemed to want to know about him. ‘Did you see your boy-friend last night?’ Selma wanted to know the next day.

  Robyn gave an inward groan, wishing she had never mentioned Rick Howarth to the other girl. ‘He isn’t my boy-friend,’ she told Selma irritably.

  ‘But you said he was.’

  ‘Well, he—he’s just a friend. And he happens to be male. That’s really all there is to it.’

  Selma shrugged. ‘It’s okay by me if you don’t want to talk about him.’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Robyn sighed. ‘There’s just nothing to tell.’

  ‘Like I said, if you don’t want to talk about him—’

  ‘There’s really nothing to tell,’ Robyn repeated sharply.

  Selma gave her a knowing glance. ‘Had an argument, did you?’

  ‘No!’ she flashed, then realised that here was a way out of this. ‘Yes,’ she deliberately contradicted herself. ‘We did, actually.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Selma shrugged. ‘If he’s really interested he’ll be back.’

  Considering the fact that Selma and the boy she had met over the weekend had already finished Robyn was surprised that the other girl felt qualified to offer this advice.

  And Rick Howarth wouldn’t be ‘back’ in her life at all, in fact she wouldn’t be too upset if she never saw him again.

  Her bicycle was back in use, so she wasn’t late back home that evening, although the house was deserted when she went in. It was half day closing at the shop, so her parents should have been here. She found them out in the yard, her father covered in oil from where he was working under the van, her mother looking on anxiously.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Robyn whispered to her mother, knowing that her father wouldn’t welcome such a question. Having to do any sort of mechanical work on the van was guaranteed to put her father in a bad mo
od.

  Her mother grimaced. ‘It broke down on the delivery this afternoon. Your father had to get Mr Jeffs to help him push it back here.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ She could imagine her father’s fury. ‘Has he been working on it long?’

  ‘About two hours,’ her mother told her softly. ‘Your dinner is in the oven. Your father and I will eat later.’

  ‘Where’s Billy?’

  ‘Out delivering the groceries for us on his bike.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘The van broke down on the way to deliver the groceries?’

  ‘Mm,’ her mother nodded. ‘Billy’s been out delivering since he got home from school.’

  Robyn’s father appeared from under the van, his face smeared with oil. ‘Hello, love,’ he muttered. ‘Pass me that spanner, Barbara. The one at your feet,’ he added tersely as she hesitated.

  ‘I think I’ll go in and have my dinner,’ Robyn whispered to her mother.

  She smiled understandingly. ‘I should.’

  ‘Barbara, the spanner!’

  ‘All right, Peter,’ she said patiently, handing it to him.

  ‘I’ll be in in a moment,’ she told Robyn.

  Her mother’s steak and kidney pie melted in the mouth; it was a favourite with Robyn. Her mother came in as she was washing up her used crockery.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Robyn asked.

  She smiled. ‘I think your father is just about finished. Billy’s just got home too, so I think we might be able to have our meal now.’

  Robyn frowned. ‘There’s still one box of groceries here.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s Mr Howarth’s.’

  ‘Mr Howarth’s …?’ she echoed in dismay.

  ‘Mm.’ Her mother heated up the gravy. ‘Billy didn’t think you would mind taking that one over.’

  ‘Well, I do! I don’t want to go over there, Mum,’ she said pleadingly. ‘I—I didn’t like him very much.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear, he’s very nice. He came over with these today,’ she indicated the carnations in the vase in the window. ‘Besides, Billy has to get his homework done now. And it won’t take you five minutes.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Robyn agreed grudgingly. ‘Just give me a few minutes to change.’