‘What a day!’ Ginny sighed, easing herself under the peach-scented bubbles, gratefully letting the steamy heat take some of the tension out of her weary limbs. Day? What a week! Stress was much too small a word for the complete and utter physical and mental exhaustion she was feeling right now. Taking another mouthful of wine, she lay back, luxuriating in the mellow tang, closing her eyes for a moment as she tried hard to believe in the power of relaxation. How did it go? Something about emptying your mind of all the unsettling thoughts - that’s just about anything that’s happened for the last few days then. Now breathe deeply and force your mind to think of your perfect peace place. Bloody stupid woman and her alliterations. What she needed was another drink.
Ok, try again - a beach, hot and secluded with a stunning waiter serving perfectly chilled Champagne
‘Go away, there’s no-one in.’ Did she actually say that or just think it very loudly? If she kept quiet and pretended it wasn’t happening, they would think the house was empty and leave her alone. Settling back into the bath, she strove to recall the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore and the healing warmth of the sun on her body, searching in vain for the bronzed Adonis.
The urgent rapping of the door knocker, accompanied by continuous chiming startled her out of the bath. Oh for goodness sake, nobody could sleep through that amount of noise - not even with a heavy sedative. She rubbed herself down quickly with a towel and grabbed her fluffy towelling gown. Whoever it was would have to live without the little black cocktail number and a trowel-full of foundation and anyway she was gonna come straight back and get in this bath as soon as she’d sent them packing. More to the point, she couldn’t risk that din going on for a second longer than necessary. The switch was at the top of the stairs and the racket mercifully stopped when the light came on. Thank heaven.
She gave the belt a tug, pushed a wisp of damp hair away from her face, then opened the door as wide as the chain would allow.
‘Thank God, I saw the light at the back and thought there was someone in.’
Ginny flinched. What little she could see of the man was enough to make her want to slam the door shut - and fast. His face and hand were spattered in blood and his jacket had an ominous dark stain. Observing her horrified reaction he appealed to her hastily, ‘Please, you’ve got to help us. Paul’s car skidded on a patch of oil or something and crashed into a tree back there. He’s badly hurt - I think he hit the windscreen. It’s completely shattered. There’s no-one else - your house is the only one for miles.’
Her eyes narrowed as she looked past him and he obligingly moved aside. The security light picked out another man sitting on the low wall at the bottom of the steps. He was holding his head in his hands and groaning. She had to make a decision. No contest.
‘I’m sorry, my uncle won’t let strangers in the house. I’ll ring for an ambulance for your friend and call the RAC to sort your car out if you like.’
‘Thanks, that’s really kind of you, but I’m not a member and ...’
‘It doesn’t matter, I am, that’s enough these days,’ she said, starting to shut the door.
‘Wait!’ - something in his voice made her halt.
~*~
He took a deep breath, chiding himself mentally with ‘Relax, don’t blow it’ and said aloud, ‘Look I know what you must be thinking, but Paul’s in shock and I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last out here in the cold.’ He glanced down and let concern quicken his words. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood. If you could just let him come into the warmth,’ he crossed his fingers behind his back, ‘he’s in no state to do you any harm. It could be ages ’til anyone comes. I’ll go back and wait in the car ...’
~*~
His sincerity was very persuasive and she was swayed by recent events - if it wasn’t for a similar act of kindness, Uncle Reg might never have made it to hospital in time. She shuddered. ‘Ok, wait a sec; I’ll just take the chain off.’
Shutting the door, she was unaware of the pre-arranged signal being given on the other side. When she opened it again he was down helping Paul to his feet. She scanned round the grounds - her uncle had laboured long and hard to instil a sense of security in her characteristically trusting nature. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, she instinctively put out her arm when they stumbled at the top step, helping to support him into the house. Kicking the front door closed, she steered them through to a couch in the sitting room where he collapsed and appeared to lose consciousness.
She watched, reluctantly impressed, as the other man deftly turned him into the recovery position and checked vital signs. He looked up to catch her staring and she flushed, disarmed by his almost apologetic shrug as he explained, ‘First aid course - never thought I’d need to use it.’ His next request to use the ‘phone to ring for the ambulance made her realise that she’d lost her grip of the situation and she shook herself into action saying, ‘Yes, sorry, please do - it’s out in the hall - I’ll find my account number for the RAC.’
What was happening to her? Where was her customary calm and efficiency? She shook her head, putting it down to stress as she delved into her handbag. Listening in openly as the call was connected, she searched for the plastic card with the details. Although she couldn’t make out much of what he said, there was a note of disappointment in his voice which seemed genuine enough. As her hand closed on the card, he called another number, speaking at great length and she stayed where she was, straining to overhear what was going on. She jumped with a start as he put the receiver down and tried to disguise her guilt by wittering as she approached him, ‘Why is it that you can never find anything the first time you look for it? - I knew it was in that front pocket all along.’
He turned to her with a serious expression, saying ‘There aren’t any ambulances. Apparently there’s been some sort of accident on the motorway. The hospital gave me another number to ring, but the doctor has got a huge list and he’s only going out for absolute emergencies.’
‘Oh dear, can’t they do anything?’
‘I spoke to a medic and she told me what to look out for and what to do in the meantime. I’ve got to ring back tomorrow morning and they’ll see what they can do then.’
‘Well ...’, she bit back her words, unwilling to reveal too much until she was a little surer of this dark stranger, convincing though he was. She became aware that he was waiting for her to finish her sentence and raised her hand with, ‘Let’s see if we have any more luck with these,’ dialling the number on the card. After a short burst of tone and few crackles, the line went dead. ‘Damn!’ She rattled the hook impatiently as though that would make it work again. Her face brightened. ‘Never mind, there’s always the mobile.’
~*~
His face displayed none of the workings of his mind as he followed her into the room and made a show of checking the motionless body while she found the ‘phone, switched it on and began to dial. She tried a few times, then gave up, muttering, ‘All our operators are permanently busy - I suppose everyone’s having trouble in this weather - maybe there’s something about it on the telly.’
A sly nudge precipitated a coughing fit and she turned round, concerned. He bent down, loosening Paul’s shirt collar and rapped out at her, ‘Glass of water - quick!’
She obeyed instinctively as he knew she would, giving him the breathing space he needed.
When she returned, he administered the drink dutifully and started carefully cleaning round the wounds on Paul’s face with the antiseptic wipes she’d brought. He registered the same surprise as she when the television wouldn’t work.
‘The aerial’s probably gone in the storm,’ she suggested, ‘it happens quite a lot out here.’
He had every reason to let her believe this, but watched with growing concern as she checked the aerial lead quite thoroughly. Thankfully, it passed her inspection and he discretely let out pent up breath as she tried the RAC number again. His luck really was in tonight, she still couldn’t get through.
She put the ’phone down, turning round with a thoughtful expression. ‘I suppose you’d better hang on here until we can get hold of someone.’
‘Thanks, I really appreciate that.’ He turned back to continue ministering to his patient, aware of her discomfort as she fretted round twitching a picture and adjusting ornaments. After a few moments, she moved to the stereo saying, ‘I’ll put some music on - it’s dreadfully quiet out here.’
As he registered the low volume Tchaikovsky, he was conscious that he had a job to do, but first he had to gain her confidence. He had to take it very slowly, try real hard not to do anything unexpected and be careful not to underestimate her technical capabilities again.
‘Um ... I don’t suppose I could use your bathroom? - I’d like to clean up a bit.’
The anxious dart of her eyes upward told him what he needed to know, preparing him for her slight hesitation.
‘Sure. The downstairs cloakroom’s just next to the front door’.
‘Thanks - would you mind keeping an eye on Paul for me ...? I’m sorry, I’ve just realised I don’t know your name. Think I’ll blame that on the crash.’
‘Oh dear, I’m just as bad. I don’t normally forget my manners; must be the shock ...’
‘Well I guess we’re quits. That’s Paul Evans and I’m Richard Allen - Rick to my friends, .’ He held out his hand.
She shook it politely saying ‘Ginny Tremayne, how do you do?’
‘Any relation to Reg Tremayne?’
‘His niece. Do you know him?’
‘I guess you could say that.’ He certainly knew everything worth knowing about him - not quite the same thing, but he wasn’t letting on just yet - it might work in his favour. The introductions over, he walked to the door, saying, ‘I think he’s asleep. If he does wake up he could be a bit disoriented, just tell him he’s had a bump. It might help if you mention that I’m here. If he starts coughing again give him some more water. You know where I am, yell if you need me.’
Right on cue, Paul stirred and mumbled something and she turned toward the sofa, giving Rick the chance to make an unobtrusive escape.
In the cloakroom, he switched on the light and turned the cold tap to a dribble, wedging the loo brush so that the water splashed over it, giving a fair imitation of someone washing. Closing the door quietly, he checked his watch - he had eight minutes to glean whatever information he could before the next phase - no problem as long as he was careful. He went up the stairs quickly, balancing his weight to avoid creaks, thankful of the music’s cover. He knew the approximate layout of rooms from the plan and started methodically at one end - an upstairs lounge with a study area - nice. Next was the bathroom, marked by the classic brass cherub peeing into a pot. His sweeping glance took in the wine glass through the fragrant steam - that could explain her calm acceptance of the situation.
The next one must be her room - not overly feminine, but the red satin nightie spread over the end of the bed was a dead giveaway. The professional in him noted that she was obviously not planning on going out tonight while the rest of him tried hard not to dwell on what it would look like with her inside. A couple of empty bedrooms - the first one outrageously pink and fluffy with a small cot, the second stark and brooding, both showing signs of recent habitation. Two guest rooms - better than most hotels he’d stayed in - so far everything pretty much as expected. He paused at last door - the master suite. Let’s hope the old lady has taken her sedatives.
The sleeping figure on the bed, a frail looking woman in her late sixties, kind of suggested that she had. The bottle of Diazepam on the bedside table showed a dose strong enough to take out a small elephant. Quick check of the two doors leading off to the en-suite and dressing room. Ok, he had what he needed, so he slipped quietly down to the cloakroom and restored its order. Washing the synthetic blood off his face, he flushed the toilet to account for the time taken.
When he went back in, she had closed the curtains and was giving the impression of reading a magazine. Paul was feigning sleep.
‘That looks better,’ she said, ‘you looked quite gruesome before.’
‘I can see now why you didn’t want to let us in.’ He grinned. ‘I looked like an extra in “Night of the living Dead”.’ She smiled and he ventured, ‘Don’t suppose I be really cheeky and ask for a coffee? I could really use some caffeine.’
‘Of course.’ She jumped up, her face a study of guilt.
Definitely well-bred. He followed her down the hall to a large, beautifully fitted farmhouse kitchen. As she busied herself filling the kettle he took stock, wandering over to the back door and checking out the utility for additional exits.
‘Nice place,’ he said, keeping the tone light. ‘I like these old houses.’
‘Me too. So much more character than the new ones. Uncle Reg was lucky to get it; there was some pop star after it, but the old lady couldn’t bear the thought of someone like that buying it.’
‘You live with your Aunt and Uncle. Just the three of you?’
‘Yes - I mean no. Well sometimes my cousin Carrie stays here with her baby.’ She returned to the coffee to hide her confusion and he sensed that he wasn’t going to get any more on that subject. He studied her for a moment, wondering how old she actually was - he would have guessed about mid to late twenties, judging by her air of poised assurance, although one could never be certain these days. She was very attractive, even in a bathrobe and turban. The thought finally filtered through - she’d obviously intended to get straight back in the bath as soon as she’d dealt with the doorbell. At the realisation that she was probably naked under that robe, he felt the familiar sensation in his groin as his gaze roamed over her body, made shapeless by the thick towelling.
She turned, catching his stare and a blush stained her cheeks. Just then the doorbell rang and as he saw the question cross her face, suggested, ‘Maybe the doctor could make it after all.’ He followed her out and watched as she opened the door as far as the chain would allow.
A few minutes later she came into the sitting room with a dark-haired, bespectacled gentleman, carrying a small black bag. ‘This is Dr Parton, a locum at theSpringfield
‘I was just telling Miss Tremayne that we’ve been drafted in from all over to help - just the emergencies.’ He took several things out of his bag rattling on, ‘The pileup on the motorway has caught everyone out, There’s a lot of staff off sick. Must be the time of year, lot of colds and ’flu about.’
He moved to the couch and started to examine Paul, so Ginny disappeared with a mumble about the coffee.
She was just returning with a tray laden with cups and a plate of biscuits when the doorbell rang again. As she put the tray down, Rick offered to get the door.
‘Hi Rick, we saw Paul’s car down the road and figured you’d be here. Are you Ok?’
‘Hello Des. I am, but Paul’s in a bad way- the doctor’s just having a look at him now.’ Then, as she appeared, ‘Ginny, it’s some mates - they were at the pub with us and going on to the same party. Can I let them in?’ This would be the real test of her trust in him.
She looked dubious, but a sudden flash of lightening drew her attention to their wet coats and she said rather grudgingly, ‘This house seems like a refuge tonight, I suppose you’d better come in.’
Maintaining the subterfuge was going to be trickier with so many variables, but he had drummed it into them that the longer they could stick to their cover, the easier it would be to do what needed doing.
~*~
She watched uncertainly as they trooped in and Rick introduced them - Des, Pete and Steve. The hall got suddenly crowded as they stood around looking vaguely embarrassed.
‘Please, leave your coats on the stand and go in,’ she indicated the sitting room. ‘I take it that’s three more coffees?’
They all acquiesced and she went back to the kitchen, going through the motions automatically while trying to focus on the situation. What did she know about this man she’d let into the house? And now all his friends as well. He obviously wasn’t local - although he said he knew Reg, there was none of the uneasy “Sorry to hear about your father” or embarrassed silence that she was becoming accustomed to.
His voice was attractive - no, she meant accentless - and educated, making him hard to place. He knew something about first aid and he liked old houses, so he couldn’t be all bad. From his actions so far, he seemed sort of capable. And very good-looking; the thought wandered into her mind uninvited.
She tried to ignore the way the entire contents of her chest cavity lurched when he smiled at her and listened instead to the growing niggle at the back of her mind. Something about the events of the past half-hour didn’t quite ring true. Well, there’s no use worrying about it now, she would just get rid of them as soon as possible - she had too many other problems to spend all her energies taking care of strays. She turned and the unexpected sight of Rick made her jump violently, spilling scalding hot coffee all over her hand. She put the cup down quickly and shook her hand.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Here, put that under the cold tap straight away. You must take the heat out or the burn will spread.’
Before she could protest he had turned on the tap and placed her hand under it, holding it there firmly when she would have taken it away.
‘It has to be a good five minutes; ten if you can stand it. The idea is to neutralise the heat and cool down the surrounding flesh. It stops the swelling; that’s what causes the bruising. It works for knocks and sprains as well. That’s why people use ice or a pack of frozen peas.’
Was he babbling or was it his invasion of her space that had turned her mind to jelly? Whatever, she was finding it hard to concentrate on his words. The heat of his body reached through her robe, accentuating her vulnerability and his grip on her arm was very tight as she once more tried to pull away.
~*~
When she was safely in the kitchen, he ushered the others into the sitting room, briefed them quickly on his findings and outlined the possible courses of action. These had all been planned and discussed many times before tonight so he only needed a few key words. Everything had gone virtually to plan - there were a couple of potential hiccups, but they were trivial and easily sorted. She wasn’t quite with it – hadn’t even asked why they didn’t use their own mobiles; that was two less lies. With a final reminder to stay in character - they were supposed to have been in the pub all night; he picked up Paul’s glass and tipped the remaining water into the rubber plant.
He went out to the kitchen, moving quietly so that he might watch her unobserved for a while to gauge her mood. Although he couldn’t see her face, after a few minutes silent scrutiny her body language was a dead give-away. He read the determination in squared shoulders and a slight straightening of the back. He would need to tread carefully. Anticipating her turn, he started walking towards her.
The spilt coffee was unfortunate, resulting in this predicament. He found himself babbling to distract his mind from the effect she was having on his senses. The smell of fresh peaches invaded his nostrils and he was intimately aware of the lock of hair that had escaped the turban to curl around her cheek. The sight of that pale, fragile arm between his thick fingers was sending powerful images through his brain ...
‘Please, you’re hurting me.’
He released her instantly. ‘Sorry, Guess I got carried away. Here, let me see that.’
She was reluctant to offer her hand, but he took it gently and inspected the damage. ‘Yeah, you’ll be fine. Might need some more treatment later, once the numbing effect wears off, but It takes a while to go away completely.’
‘I expect I’ll live.’ There was weariness about her as she refilled the cup, placing it on the tray with the others.
He coughed awkwardly, trying to think of something to reassure her. ‘Hopefully the doc. will say Paul’s fit to be moved, then you can turf us all out.’ He picked up the glass to change the subject, ‘He needs plenty of fluids. Can I get him some more water?’ He gestured at the tray. ‘You’ve got your hands full.’
‘Sure, help yourself.’
Waiting until she was out of earshot, he unlocked the back door and checked outside, looking for any more surprises - there was nothing untoward, so he carefully locked it again. As he reached the sitting room, the door burst open and she came hurtling out, straight into him, knocking the glass flying and threatening to topple them both. His arms went out instinctively to steady her and he found himself holding naked flesh. She lashed out wildly and he raised his arm to protect his face, letting her work it all out of her system.
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