Wild Lady Part 22

"Maybe."

For a moment she thought he was going to press her further but he must have thought better of it because he put down his gla.s.s and unfolded himself from the armchair. "Shall we eat here, in front of the fire?"

The gentle warmth had made her drowsy. "I'd like that," she murmured and he fetched a low table from the other side of the room. She made a move to rise, offer her a.s.sistance, but he stopped her.

"Leave it to me, I know where everything is."

It was only when he'd disappeared into the kitchen that she realized he still hadn't answered her question. And rather to her surprise she found herself laughing.

"What's so funny?" he called out.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." He reappeared with a tray and he looked directly at her as he bent to place it on the table. It was slightly intimidating. He was a lot better at interrogation than she was.

"It was nothing," she said, turning to look into the fire. Then she realized she was doing it too. Sidestepping. Not confronting the problem. Maybe it was catching. Or perhaps a lifetime of avoiding her own black beast had left her with unsuspected skills in the technique. He was very good at it, but she wondered how he would respond to direct a.s.sault. There was only one way to find out. Claudia lifted her head, tilted her chin a little to give herself courage and turned to look him straight in the eye. "I just noticed that whenever I ask you a personal question you always manage to steer the subject away from dangerous secrets."

"And you found that funny?" Her glance wavered momentarily. In the firelight the vivid blue of his eyes had darkened to slate. But she refused to be intimidated. Or distracted.

"Not especially. But I wondered if you had special training for that in the army?" she asked. "In case of capture. Or is it a gift you were born with, seeping through in the genes from all those generations of military men? Like acting seems to with the Beaumonts." The silence that followed this was not promising and quite suddenly she lost her nerve. Ducking her head, she turned with a generous gesture towards the tray and said, "That looks ... good." She had been about to say neat. Ten out of ten. She supposed all soldiers quickly learned the habit. The tray would certainly have pa.s.sed the toughest of inspections. Even the sausages were lined up with military precision.

Claudia wondered what it would be like to ruffle the man, muss hair kept trimmed to a millimeter, clothes that seemed to leap to attention the moment he put them on. Gabriel was so controlled, so untouchable, so competent in everything he did. He could kiss a woman or cook a sausage with one hand tied behind his back. And they would both sizzle.

She was seized by an almost overwhelming urge to reach up and tousle his hair as he leaned over to pa.s.s her a plate. She restrained herself, Gabriel MacIntrye was no teddy bear. The only bear he resembled was a grizzly. And a girl ruffled a grizzly at her peril.

"Would you like some b.u.t.ter for your potato?" he asked, with blade-edged politeness.

"Thank you." He pa.s.sed it to her, waited to her to split her potato and place a small k.n.o.b of b.u.t.ter inside it and then put it back on the tray. "Salt? Pepper."

"You don't have to wait on me."

"You're my guest."

"An unwanted one. An inconvenient nuisance."

"That's not true."

But she shook her head, unconvinced. "I'm sorry, Gabriel, I'll try to be good. I know you're doing this to help me, that you'd rather not be here."

"I thought that I would rather not be here, but you needed feel guilty, it's not as bad as I had expected."

Claudia felt a queer little flutter in the region of her waist. What on earth was he going to say? He said nothing, turning instead to help himself to b.u.t.ter and pepper. She longed to prompt him, urge him to begin, but for once an unusually acute sense of what was prudent kept her silent as he returned to his seat.

She dipped her fork into her potato, swallowed a little. Mac seemed to have forgotten the food on his lap.

"You must have realized," he said, breaking the silence, "it must be glaringly obvious, that I haven't been here since Jenny died." She didn't fall into the seductive trap he offered, managed to withstand the temptation to ask him one of the questions crowding her brain, fighting to get out, questions that would offer him a welcome diversion from his painful thoughts. She held her tongue, waited and she was finally rewarded for her patience. "I kept putting it off. I told myself that I'd come next weekend, then the next..." He paused, waiting, perhaps hoping that she would speak. But Claudia uncharacteristically held her tongue. "When I could no longer fool myself that way, I told myself that it was only sensible to wait until the weather was warmer, the evenings longer and I'd have more time. There was so much to do." He raised one hand in resignation. "Then it was winter again."

And now it was summer. Two years. After a long time Claudia slowly cleared her throat. "You didn't have to come back at all. You could have sold up. People do. And weekend cottages with the potential of this one, with a lake..." But even as she was saying it she knew that he would have found that impossible. An admission of defeat. "You must have loved her very much."

"Must I?" There was the briefest pause, before he said, "Your supper's getting cold, Claudia." And in case she hadn't got the point, he devoted his entire attention to his own food.

Afterwards he politely refused her offer to help with the was.h.i.+ng up. She had the feeling that he would prefer to be on his own and she didn't push it. But he paused in the kitchen doorway. "You're going to have to start thinking about who is responsible for this, Claudia. Now might be a good time." His face was in the shadows and she couldn't tell his mood from his voice. He was back in control and she doubted that he would let the mask slip again. "And while you're a.s.sessing the possibilities I'd like you to consider this. Around eighty per cent of women who find themselves the victim of continual hara.s.sment and violence have been in some kind of a relations.h.i.+p with the person who is giving them a hard time."

So she took his advice and thought very hard about what had been happening. Someone wanted to frighten her. No. The stakes had been upped when that paint was thrown into her face. Someone wanted to terrify her. Worse. And Gabriel was right, it had to be someone she knew, no stranger would take so much trouble, or so many risks. She found her handbag and in the back of her diary she began to make a list. Family first, then close friends, then acquaintances. It was a long list and it was nowhere near complete. She looked up when he returned a while later with a couple of mugs of what looked suspiciously like cocoa. He had to be kidding.

He wasn't. He saw her face and smiled slightly. "I thought since we were into comfort, we might as well go the whole hog, although whether nanny would approve of the Scotch I've laced it with is a moot point. But since there was half a bottle with the groceries..."

Only half? Because Adele had thought he might need a drink to get him through his first visit to the cottage since his wife had been killed, but wasn't prepared to take the risk of leaving a whole bottle? "I think I've let myself go quite sufficiently for one day," she said, standing the mug on the hearth. "But don't let me stop you."

But he didn't seem in any hurry to indulge himself. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making a list of everyone I know." She handed it over.

"You know a lot of people."

"Oh, there are more. A lot more." She watched as he looked over the names. "Do you suppose," she asked, after a while, "that the most likely culprit is a close friend, or a mere acquaintance? Or just somebody I was a bit offhand with one day in a television studio, or backstage, somebody whose name I'll probably never know?" She paused as another thought seized her. "Or even an outraged theater-goer who didn't like my performance? Some man who didn't think I was as good as my mother?"

"On that basis it could be half the country."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean -"

"Didn't you?" Their eyes met briefly then he indicated the list.

"Who are all these people? Matthew for instance?"

"He's my hairdresser." The poor man was going to have his work cut out to make something out of the remains of her hair. "You can cross him off, by the way, he'd never have done this." She indicated her turbaned head.

"Peter Jameson?"

"Cross him off too. He's my agent and when I don't work he doesn't get paid."

"Joanna Gray. Who is she?"

"A friend. We were at RADA together. She's a very good actress, in fact she should have been in the Stalker but she broke her arm. She's taking my place tonight."

"I hadn't thought about that. When was that organized?"

"I telephoned her yesterday evening." She shrugged. "My performance was beginning to suffer..."

"Tell me about Phillip Redmond."

"Phillip?"

"He seemed somewhat obsessed by your mother."

"I don't know about obsessed. She gave him his first job in the theater and you've seen for yourself that he believed she could do no wrong. But he isn't alone in that."

She gave a little s.h.i.+ver.

"You're cold?" He didn't sound particularly surprised, despite the warmth of the August evening and the fire.

"Just a little." She rubbed at the gooseflesh raised on her arms.

"It's probably reaction. You can't simply block out what's happening."

"I can try." Her eyes were dry and painful and she closed them, fighting back the threatening tears. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

"Hey. Hey, come on." She felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned over her, lifting her from the chair, pulling her into his arms to hold her, warm her. His lips brushed against her temple, but there was no threat only comfort in the gesture. "You've had a tough few days. No one's going to ridicule you for letting it show."

"Oh, no? Let me tell you there are a whole raft of people out there who would love to see the golden girl crumple up, fall apart."

"Golden girl?"

She buried her face in his shoulder. "It's what some newspaperman called me once. He said I had it all."

"No one has it all." He touched her undamaged cheek, turned her face so that she was looking up at him. "Sometimes it looks that way to outsiders, but you can't enlighten them because they'd rather believe the illusion."

Claudia looked up at him. All her life she'd been living with an illusion. "I'm tired of playing make-believe, Gabriel, but there are some things we can't escape."

"We can try." His voice was gravelly and as he held her she sensed that for all the comfort he was offering her as he enfolded her against his strength, he was receiving an equal measure in return. "We should try." And without thinking she reached up, touched his cheek as he was touching hers and then followed the gesture with a kiss, the merest touch of her lips on his. It wasn't seductive, or bold, or like any kiss she could remember giving before. It was simply the only way she could think of to thank him.

To thank him for being there, for giving her shelter in the cottage he had shared with his wife, even when it was painful for him. To thank him for just holding her, keeping her safe. The feeling disturbed and confused her. She had never looked to anyone else for strength before and she was beginning to rely on Gabriel MacIntyre far too much, beginning to want Gabriel MacIntyre far too much.

And because she didn't want to embarra.s.s him, or herself, she drew back, putting a little distance between them, sinking first back onto the chair and then slipping down onto the rug, curling her legs beneath her and reaching out her fingers to the last of the warmth. As if it could replace the warmth that he generated. But it wasn't the same as being held in those strong arms.

Gabriel hunkered down beside her, saying nothing as he stirred the embers of the fire with a long poker before carefully placing a couple of logs in the warmest part of the fire. Then he picked up her discarded mug and placed it into her hands, wrapping her fingers about it and holding them there briefly before disappearing into the darkness to close the window.

Without him at her side the room was suddenly far less friendly and her eyes sought him in the darkness. Her teeth were beginning to chatter and she sipped at the cocoa, the whisky immediately warming the back of her throat and spreading its heat to warm her stomach. But it wasn't the same.

"Do you think all this could be to do with Stalker, Gabriel?" she asked, when he lingered by the window. "The networks started running publicity footage a week ago and it might just have given someone the idea."

"It could be I suppose," he said, returning to the fireside but keeping his distance from her. He sounded doubtful. "But the thing about stalkers is that they are driven to punish their love-object for not returning their love. They want their victim to know why they are suffering."

"And I don't." For a moment their eyes locked and held; then he reached out, touching the unmarked side of her face with just the tips of his fingers.

"Maybe you do, Claudia. Maybe you just don't want to admit it." She flinched away from him. For a moment his hand remained poised in the air, then he let it fall. "The subconscious is very good at burying the unpleasant things we'd rather not face."

"I am not burying anything," she protested.

He turned and stared into the fire. "Not deliberately, perhaps. But none of us is immune. Before you go to sleep you should run through any disagreements you've had lately," he paused, "professional or personal. The mind is very good at finding answers."

"What answers?" She gathered herself and stood up, looking down into his upturned face. He had this view of her as a thoroughly spoilt woman who had got herself into something she couldn't handle but wasn't prepared to own up. Because of Tony he had got it into his mind that this nonsense was the result of a s.e.xual entanglement that had gone awry, some scorned lover getting his revenge.

Well he was wrong, but he was so fixated on her public image that he wasn't prepared to look beyond it and she certainly wasn't about to explain herself, leaving herself open to an additional charge of lying. Because he wouldn't believe her. In fact, the only reason he was taking such a very personal interest in her problems was because, in trying to get to her, to frighten her, someone had had the temerity to contaminate one of his precious parachutes. He accused her of hiding from the truth, but he was hiding too. "Maybe you should be asking yourself a few questions, Gabriel."

"What questions?" His eyes were very still, very intent as he looked up at her. She had his divided attention and she wasn't about to waste it.

"You're the only person I've fallen out with recently, Gabriel MacIntyre. You knew where I was when I ran to Fizz -"

"Claudia -" he warned, rising to his feet.

She wasn't listening; she was too busy putting two and two together. "And you could easily have pushed that nasty little welcome home note through my door when we got home. It might even have been there from the night before. What did it say exactly?" She frowned. "How does it feel to be home? Something like that. It would have done the job anytime, wouldn't it?" She stared at him. Trust me. Put yourself in my hands. She had trusted him, accepted his protection and now she was in this isolated cottage, no telephone, no way of escape ...

As his hands reached out for her she let out a little shriek of fear and stumbled back against the chair. He caught her, his fingers biting into her arms as he stopped her from falling, steadied her.

"Why, Claudia?" he said, very gently. "Why do you think I'd do that?" She shook her head, unable to answer, but he was insistent. "That's the second time you've suggested I'm capable of hurting you." His brow was furrowed in a deep frown that brought his thick dark brows down into a straight line. "I don't understand why."

Neither did she. She didn't believe it. He'd tried to protect her from the photograph; the only reason he'd shown it to her was because he was so concerned about her. "I ... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gabriel - I don't mean, I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"You're sure? I brought you here so that you would feel safe. If you're in the least bit uncertain I'll take you anywhere you want to go..."

And finally that did it. The tears welled up and spilled over. She shook her head unable for the moment to speak.

Without another word he put his arms about her, drawing her into the warmth of his body, holding her close against his chest as he would a frightened child, so that she could take comfort from the steady beat of his heart.

"It's all right, sweetheart, let it out. You're just scared. Anyone would be."

"Yes, I'm scared," she admitted, closing her eyes, as if that would make the fear go away. "I just feel so ... alone."

"You're not alone, Claudia," he murmured into her hair. "You won't ever be alone again."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"YOU'LL never be alone." The words had just come out. All by themselves. But he meant them. Claudia Beaumont had taken his cold, bitter heart and warmed it with her bright eyes, her teasing mouth, a heart that he had learned was as big as a house, despite all her efforts to keep that fact hidden.

He had fought it every step of the way, but with that unpremeditated declaration he knew that he had lost the battle, that he was hers, for better or worse. That he would be there for her, for as long as she needed him.

He knew it might not be for long. She needed him, but need wasn't love and he wasn't about to load her with guilt by selfishly declaring his own feelings.

She stirred in his arms and looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears, her lashes clumped together. He wanted to kiss them. And because he thought it would make her feel better, he bent and touched her lids, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips.

"Gabriel?" The way she murmured his name was like an intimate caress, her liltingly soft voice stroking him, stirring a response, an ache of longing.

"Why don't you go to bed, Claudia," he said, thickly. "You've had a rough day. I'll be here if you need me." And he eased himself away from her before his reaction to the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin became too obvious to ignore.

As he stepped back she turned away from him, but not before a fleeting expression of sadness darkened her eyes and for one treacherous moment every part of him screamed that he had made a mistake, that she wanted him to hold her, wanted him to make love with her every bit as much he was hungering for her. But then she lifted her head and smiled. "You're right. It's been a b.l.o.o.d.y awful day and it's time it was over."

"You'll feel better after a decent night's sleep."

"That'll do it every time," she agreed, brightly and there was a bustle while she brushed her teeth, found her handbag and finally departed for bed.