The Questing Heart (8 page)

'What's t' matter, lass?' Mr Preston enquired.

'Nothing, I caught my heel. Shall we go on?'

She wanted to increase the distance between herself and Chris in case he recognised her, though with such a distraction he was unlikely to have eyes for anything else. So she sought to move Mr Preston on, but he seemed mesmerised by the spectacle of so much affluence and fashion. Chris suddenly lifted his head and his keen glance swept over the passersby. For a second Clare thought it rested upon her, but hoped she was mistaken. Then the stylish group moved away in the opposite direction and she sighed with relief.

Mr Preston escorted her to the door of her hotel, refusing her invitation to come in and have a drink, and she went to her room to conjecture upon what she had seen.

Chris had told her he was meeting too many old acquaintances in Nice and he had to get away to find a quiet place to work. If the group she had seen that evening were his friends they were of a much superior grade to anything that she had imagined, not that she had given them much thought. Christopher Raines was presumably one of the impecunious youngsters who wandered through Europe in search of copy, though the amount of salary he had offered her hardly supported that view. The people she had seen coming out of the hotel were in a different dimension altogether—jet set sophisticates, beautiful people, the smart set, or whatever they were termed nowadays, and the jettiest, most beautiful and smartest of them all was the redhaired woman who had been clinging to Christopher's arm with all the pride of possession.

Could it really have been Chris whom she had seen in that superb white suit? It seemed improbable, for though she suspected now that he was considerably better off financially than he admitted, he could not be in that class unless ... horrible thought ... the redhead was supporting him, a not uncommon feature of Riviera life. But her mind revolted from such a suggestion, Chris would never stoop to being any woman's lap-dog, on the other hand if it had been he, and she was sure her eyes had not deceived her; he was obviously deeply involved with the glamorous beauty, in spite of his gibes at predatory women.

Clare sighed, for he would certainly never waste an amorous thought upon a brown sparrow when he could command such loveliness. His interest in her appearance had caused her to form half-hopes that once they were alone together their association might ripen into something warmer than that of employer and employee, though she had no clear idea of what she intended to do if it did. Chris as a lover would be overwhelming, and she had never had a lover. With unerring feminine instinct she was aiming for the best within reach, but now the redhead had shown her that he was far out of reach and she had been indulging in wishful thinking. Chris had no personal feeling for her at all; he wanted an efficient secretary who also looked smart —to do them both credit, as he had put it—no more no less. When it came to making love he chose women like his redhead.

She turned her thoughts to the immediate fyture, the mountain retreat to which they were going on the morrow. In the rush of the day's events there had been no time for details; she supposed it would be some small hotel, boarding house or even a private residence. That her position was a little unconventional did not trouble her. Business men often travelled with their secretaries, and Chris needed her for his work, and presumably she would be accommodated in the same house, since she was to have her keep —board but not bed, he had said with his habitual mocking grin. She had had no opportunity to press for details, and she began to wish he had been more explicit and she had been less rash. She had wanted to see more of life and gain experience of it, and life with Chris promised to be something of an adventure, though she was dimly aware that she might suffer if her heart strayed too far in his direction, but that again was something she had not yet experienced, and would assist her writing. Her only anxiety was her family, whatever happened she must ensure they received her aid.

That Chris now knew about her commitment was a mixed blessing. He had said he would guarantee she could continue to fulfil it, but it also gave him a hold over her if he chose to act the tyrant.

She went to bed and slept soundly—too soundly, because she overslept and had to rush through her breakfast and packing to be ready at the time Chris had named, but her misgivings had dissipated during the night. The sun was shining, and her very presentable employer was about to drive her into Italy, a delightful prospect, while as for the redhead, Chris was fleeing from her because she was too distracting. So perhaps there were some advantages in being merely a brown sparrow.

C
LARE
had some difficulty in packing her new acquisitions, they would not all go into her two cases and she had to supplement her luggage with a large cardboard box. It looked the reverse of elegant and she wished that she had had the foresight to purchase a holdall or some such during the previous afternoon.

Chris arrived as the porter was carrying her possessions to the front door and he hastened to assist him to put them in the boot. He came back uttering a brief good-morning to her, as she went to the desk for her bill and passport. He pounced on the former, saying shortly: 'This is my liability, as arranged.' Watching him as he settled with the clerk, Clare tried to reconcile his present appearance with that of the immaculate figure she had seen last night. He wore a singlet with short sleeves edged with blue and open at the neck, and a pair of denim pants, a very dissimilar costume to the white suit, so that she wondered again if she had perhaps been mistaken. She noticed that he was pale beneath his tan and had dark smudges under his eyes, evidence of a dissipated night. She recalled the redhead and with the naivete of innocence concluded that he had spent the night with her, if he were indeed that other man. She hoped fervently it would turn out he was not.

His transaction completed, he turned to her with a slight frown, the gold-green eyes inimical under the pent brows like those of a falcon seeking its prey. A shiver ran down Clare's spine at her extravagant fancy, but she did not think she was the prey he sought.

'I'm glad to see you're punctual,' he observed ungraciously. 'Come along and don't loiter, we've a long way to go.'

Clare had merely paused to say goodbye to the staff and tip the doorman. Chris was obviously in a bad temper and she wisely decided not to try to make conversation as they drove away through the busy streets. He had added to his informal ensemble a panama hat to shield his eyes from the strong sun, jamming it on his head at a rakish angle.

For all I know you may well be a rake, Clare thought, and wondered at her temerity in entrusting her fate into his hands. -

A glimpse of a portable typewriter reposing on the back seat had been reassuring, indicating that he did intend to work and that this was not some crazy expedition into the unknown.

Chris took to the autoroute after Monaco running above the sunlit coast of France, interspersed with tunnels through the mountains. They had travelled so far in silence, but now to her discomfiture he suddenly asked:

'Who was the stout party you were with last night?'

This was confirmation of all her fears. Chris had been the man she had seen with the redhead and his hawk's eye had recognised her in the crowd.

'A Mr Preston from Lancashire,' she told him.

'An old friend?'

'Well, a compatriot, as you might say,' she hedged, unwilling to reveal the circumstances in which he had rescued her. 'It was nice to hear a Lancashire voice after so much French.'

'Which you don't speak very well,' he said cuttingly. 'That's another thing we must do something about. I hope he isn't another applicant for your services?'

'Why should he be? Not all my acquaintances are itching to employ me,' she returned, annoyed by his tone. 'I also saw you, all dressed up. Who was the redhaired lady?'

'Signora Violetta Albanesi,' he informed her glibly. 'Beautiful, isn't she?' He said it with pride—the pride of possession?

Clare said she was lovely. 'Italian, of course?'

'Naturally, with that name. Actually it is her
castello
we're going to. She's leased it to me.'

'Then she's an old fla ... friend?'

'Both.'

'I didn't quite say it.'

'It's a conclusion any woman would leap to after seeing us together, so I hasten to confirm your conjectures.-Satisfied?'

'Oh, quite.' His confirmation of her suspicions depressed her. She longed to ask what was their exact relationship, but that would be impertinence, instead she said loftily: 'That part of your life is nothing to do with me.'

'I'm glad you've the sense to know that.' His voice was very cold.

They reached the frontier and stopped behind the lane of cars waiting for inspection. Chris turned in his seat to look at her with a mocking gleam in his eyes.

'Do you wish to cancel your engagement now that you've found out I have an Italian mistress?'

'I repeat it's nothing to do with me,' she reiterated dully.

'Then why are you looking so downcast?'

'I wasn't ... the heat is affecting me a little,' she said mendaciously. He was correct in stating that his love life was no concern of hers, but his blunt admission had wounded her. He belonged to another woman, however irregular the union, and if her erotic fancies strayed towards him, she would be trespassing. Then she caught the wicked glint in his eyes and she wondered if he had told her the truth or was merely teasing her; he delighted in trying to shock what he termed her puritan outlook. He could not know that she feared her own heart was becoming involved. She had wanted to fall in love since it was something she had never experienced, but it hit her with unwelcome force that unrequited love could be painful, and jealousy ... was she jealous of the redhaired Violetta? ... a strong but despicable emotion. Rousing herself, she managed to say brightly:

'I'm gaining lots of copy for my book.'

'Ah yes, the great romance. There's always another woman, isn't there? She's a necessary ingredient.'

'If you imagine I'm casting you for my hero ...' she began with more heat than wisdom, since that was just what she was doing, when the car ahead of them having been cleared moved on and it was their turn to face the officials. When they went on again, Christopher talked about the scenery, which was very fine, with the blue sea on one side, divided from them by gardens and villages, and the arid slopes of the mountains on the other.

They stopped for lunch at Ventimiglia, which had once been a Roman stronghold, and Chris discoursed learnedly about the Romans who had marched that way into Gaul on their all-conquering progress. Presently when he had tired of the subject, she asked:

'What's your play about?'

'What play?'

'The one presumably that you're working on and I'm to type.'

'It's a modern comedy, and if you think typing is all you're going to do you're very much mistaken. I shall try . my dialogue out on you and if you dare to criticise it, you'll get sacked.'

'Then what's the point of trying it out on me if all you want is insincere adulation?'

'Because that's the way of authors. They ask for criticism and are furious if it's adverse.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' she promised. 'But I didn't expect you to be as touchy as Mrs Cullingford.'

'Did she ever ask you for your opinion?'

'Not on your life! I was considered the lowest form of life when it came to literature, but I've seen her bristle when one of the tabbies dared to make a suggestion. As far as I was concerned, I was just ten fingers that knew how to manipulate a typewriter keyboard, and she couldn't spell; that I had to correct.'

'Actually I'm not very hot on spelling myself,' Chris confessed. 'I see you're going to be invaluable.'

'Nice you should think so,' she said modestly.

'That's your sparrow look. You should reply, "Of course I shall be, that's why you engaged me." People always accept you at your own valuation.'

'Not always. If I took you at yours you'd be worth your weight in gold.'

He looked genuinely hurt. 'Am I so conceited?'

'No, only self-confident,' she amended hastily. 'Which is a very good thing to be if you want to get on.'

'Now you're talking, but we'd better be getting a move on if we're to reach this place in time to settle in before dinner.'

His remark recalled her to practical details not yet described.

'Before we go, I'd be glad if you'd explain one or two things,' Clare said diffidently. 'Owing to my hurried departure we haven't had time to discuss them.'

'I thought we'd covered the essentials.'

'Not quite. You did say something about board—do I understand I'm to be kept?'

From the way his mouth twitched she knew too late that she had expressed herself badly.

'Yes, my darling, you'll be a kept woman,' he drawled.

'Please be serious,' she besought him, wishing she did not find him so madly attractive when he was looking mischievous. The green-gold eyes danced, and the lean, bronzed planes of his face were softened by laughter lines. 'Do I lodge in this ... er ... castle with you?'

'But of course, there isn't anywhere else. Does the thought of sharing the same roof offend your Victorian sensibilities? If so, there might be a spare cowshed available.'

'Now you're being absurd. I'm not in the least Victorian,' her grey eyes sparkled indignantly. 'I don't mind a bit. Is there a family? Of course I realise that though I'll be living with you, my position will be under you ...' His laughter interrupted her and she flushed with annoyance. 'I'm not trying to be funny.'

'No, darling, but your way of putting things is a little unfortunate. You'll not be under me, as you naively express it, but treated as one of the family, only there's no family in residence. Violetta assures me that there is a fully competent staff to wait upon us. To set your mind at rest, we're to have a suite with a room to work in and separate bedrooms. Dinner will be served downstairs, other meals will be brought to us when we've time for them. Actually I'd made all arrangements some time back and engaged a secretary, a man, but he was such a dope I couldn't face being incarcerated with him up in the mountains, so when I saw you at Madame Monique's, so quietly . efficient, so unobtrusive, I was sure you'd make a pleasant substitute, and might be quite decorative as well when you were properly clad.' He gave her a mischievous grin. 'The only thing I haven't covered is a duenna or a chaperone, but perhaps we can find some old crone in the village who you could say was your grandmother to satisfy convention.'