BOOKS BY ANNE MATHER 6 страница

He swung round then, leaning back against the bureau, his lean face mirroring the self-contempt she had come to expect. "Your concern does you credit," he said harshly, and she saw he was a little paler than before. "Particularly after what I said." He drew a deep breath. "But no, Miss

Alone in far bedroom, Helen

(SUSAN PENHALIGON) takes stock

of her forced detention

Breakfast is bad isserved by Bolt (JEREMY KEMP)

Forgetting her problems for the

moment, Helen loses herself in the pleasure of sliding in the snow

Mistrust on both sides ends in open antagonism when Helen and Dominic (KEIR DULLEA) encounter each other

in the kitchen

Dominic reacts fiercely to Helen's

concern for him, suspecting her of trying

to gain her freedom by playing on his emotion

Helen questions taciturn Bolt about Dominic's life

Despite their antagonism, Dominic and Helen can no longer ignore the altraction that draws them to each other

A partial truce declared, Helen and Dominic treat each other warily

Bolt warns Helen that she will be badly hurt if she expects anything from a man as cynical and bitter as Dominic

Dominic betrays more thanmere concern as he ensures thatHelenis

unhurt in the car accident that dooms her escape plans

Once re-established in her London

routine, Helen cannot hide her

preoccupation from boyfriend

Michael (GORDON THOMSON)

Sir Philip James (KENNETH MORE)

greets Helen with relief upon her

return to London

Isobel (BILLIE WHITELAW) advises Helen to return to the man who has affected her so strongly

Helen listens in amazement as Dominic tells her that his operation was a success

James, there's nothing you can do. Thank you."

Helen was tempted to protest, but she could sense the hardening within him find knew it would be useless, and Bolt's arrival at that moment with their supper curtailed any further conversation between diem.

The manservant surveyed their closeness beside the bureau with obvious curiosity, but he merely shrugged and put down the tray while he put the low table in position on the hearth. Dominic limped back to his seat and Helen did likewise, but she looked up in surprise when he said:

"Join us, Bolt. I'm sure Miss James finds your company more enjoyable than mine."

Bolt hesitated, but something seemed to pass between him and his master and with a smile, he accepted the invitation. "Thank you, sir, I'd like that."

"Good. A cosy supper for three."

Dominic stretched indolently in his chair, his injured leg resting on the wrought iron fender that surrounded the fireplace. Looking at him Helen wondered why it was that his every movement held such a sexual fascination for her, but when he caught her eyes upon him she could not read his expression.

And of course, it was not cosy at all. Helen was supremely conscious that Dominic's invitation to Bolt had been somehow stimulated by the scene that had taken place before the manservant's arrival, and she found herself in the ignominious position of feeling that he was deliberately showing her that her behaviour was nothing but an embarrassment to him. To him!

Helen felt sick and humiliated. What was it that possessed her so that when he looked at her in a certain way she forgot her antagonism and had no defence against him? Did he know what he whs doing? Or was it an involuntary attraction? Or did some perverted streak in his nature find amusement in her stumbling naiveté?

She ate very little of the fried chicken Bolt had prepared, but fortunately the two men found plenty to talk about, to each other, and her lack of enthusiasm for the food was not commented upon.

When the meal was over, and the two men were smoking cheroots, Dominic looked across at Helen and deliberately, she thought, he said: "I think I'll do some work this evening, Bolt. I'm not tired. I rested this afternoon while you were out. I feel like burning the midnight oil."

Bolt shook his head. "So long as you don't overdo it," he commented dryly.

"Oh, I won't." Dominic stretched lazily, his eyes on Helen's suddenly frustrated face. "But if we're to leave here soon, I must get on with the book."

Helen looked down at her hands locked together in her lap. She was almost sure now that he was aware that she had seen the telephone in his study, and this was his way of warning her not to come and try to use it tonight. A choking tightness closed round her throat and her nails curled painfully into her palms. How could she ever feel anything but loathing for someone who constantly used her to gratify his own sadistic sense of humour?

CHAPTER SIX

During the next couple of days Helen had no opportunity to seek any means of escape. She awoke on the morning following the supper party with a throbbing head, a burning throat, and a streaming nose. When Bolt appeared with her breakfast, he insisted on taking her temperature, and after that he refused to allow her to get out of bed.

"You don't want to get pneumonia, do you?" he asked reprovingly, when she protested weakly that she couldn't put upon him in this way. "This has been coming for a few days, if you ask me - ever since the afternoon you arrived when you got soaked. You stay where you are and I'll bring you some hot water bottles. You're not fit to go downstairs and you know it."

Helen did know it. She felt terrible, and it was a great relief to abandon herself to Bolt's administrations, knowing that he would think no worse of her for giving in. She didn't want to think what Dominic Lyall's reactions might be, and as she slept for the most of that day thoughts of him did not intrude upon her aching brain.

The next morning she felt considerably better, but not strong enough to get up, and Bolt brought all her meals upstairs, dismissing her apologies with casual inconsequence. He brought her some books up, too, paperbacks mostly from the shelves in the living room, and Helen spent the day reading and sleeping and generally regaining her strength. Once or twice when she heard footsteps on the stairs she tensed, half expecting Dominic Lyall to come and see how she was, but only Bolt ever came into her bedroom.

The third morning found her almost fully recovered. She was in her dressing gown when Bolt brought her breakfast tray and smiled away his assertions that she ought not to be out of bed.

"I'm much better, really I am," she exclaimed, looking at him appealingly. "And I do want to thank you for looking after me as you have, bringing me aspirins and cough medicine and hot water bottles. I don't know how to thank you."

Bolt shook his head. "I was glad to do it, miss."

"Helen."

"All right, Helen." He grinned. "Well, I'm glad to see you're better, but I'd suggest you didn't get up until this afternoon. Give yourself a chance. You've just spent two whole days in bed."

"I'll think about it," she promised, moving over to the tray. "Hmm - mushrooms and bacon. I shall enjoy that."

After Bolt had gone about his business, Helen ate her breakfast and then wandered to the window. It was a fine morning, if a trifle overcast, but at least no more snow had fallen since she became ill. She turned to survey her bedroom and then on impulse went into the bathroom and washed and cleaned her teeth. She was tired of staying in her room, and now that she felt so much better she wanted to be up and about She could always sit in the living room. And she would have Bolt to talk to. She refused to consider Dominic Lyall's feelings in the matter. He had not even bothered to come and ask how she was feeling. And she couldn't help that rankling a little.

She dressed in tight jeans and a cream shirt and taking her tray with her went downstairs. Bolt was not in the kitchen and she put down the tray and looked about her. It was amazing, but already this place possessed a certain familiarity for her, a feeling of association that she had never experienced in the house her father shared with Isabel.

Looping her hair behind her ears, she looked out of the kitchen windows wondering where Bolt could be. Had he gone to the shops again, or was he outside feeding the animals?

The cold storeroom door stood wide and a sound from within made her turn in surprise.

"Bolt?" she said tentatively. "Bolt, is that you?"

She went to the door of the storeroom and looked inside, and then noticed that there was another door at the far side of the storeroom, and it stood wide, too. Frowning, she moved slowly across to the second door and saw a flight of stairs leading down.

A ripple of excitement slid over her It was like the thriller she had been reading the day before. A secret door - a hidden staircase; and beyond...

She began to descend the stairs. She was sure now that Bolt was at the bottom. They probably led to the cellars of the house. No doubt Bolt stored supplies down here.

At the foot of the stairs, it seemed that she was right. She was standing in a cellar lit by a single bulb hanging by its cord. But Bolt was not here and as she looked around she saw another door standing slightly ajar.

With an inescapable feeling of trespass she went towards the inner door and opened it silently, stifling a gasp when she saw what lay beyond. No ordinary cellar this, but a magnificently equipped gymnasium with vaulting horses and wall bars, rings suspended from the ceiling, ropes and a punch-ball, and machines for exercising. She walked into the middle of the room looking about her in amazement, realising that this was why there was not an ounce of spare flesh on Dominic Lyall's muscular body in spite of his enforced inactivity.

At the end of the gymnasium another door opened into a kind of changing area, panelled in Swedish wood with an adjoining shower room. It was quite hot in here, the atmosphere was moist, and Helen found that she was seating. The heat seemed to be coming from beyond another door and without giving herself time to have second thoughts she turned the handle and looked inside. A feeling of intense excitement filled her. The inner room was a sauna, lit by a dull orange light and incredibly hot. A man was lying face downward on a slab in the middle of the floor, and even as she realised it was Dominic, be said impatiently:

"For God's sake, hurry up, Bolt. I've got work to do."

Helen caught her breath. He had obviously heard the door open and assumed it was Bolt. If he turned round now and saw her... Her cheeks flamed. She had never seen a man unclothed before, not in the flesh.

While she was hesitating about dosing the door again and fleeing back to the comparative safety of the upper floors he spoke again. "Just here," he said, stretching one hand to indicate a spot on his back just below the level of his hips. "It aches!"

Helen felt her stomach contract nervously. If she didn't do something soon he could be bound to turn and see her. She ought to go. She ought to leave now while she had the chance and not risk his discovering her there. But something, something stronger than the desire to make her escape, was urging her to stay. She knew she was a fool. She knew she was inviting further humiliation; but she closed the door and advanced into the room. She had guessed Bolt was a masseur and she knew sufficiently much to believe she could emulate him for a while without discovery.

Her hands were trembling as she laid them on the small of his back and began smoothing the muscles that supported his spine. There was a moment when he stiffened and she thought he was about to turn and confront her, but then he relaxed again find her confidence strengthened her fingers. She kneaded the flesh more firmly, stimulating the circulation. The heat in the room made his skin damp and because she was fully dressed she grew even hotter. Her breathing quickened, and just when she thought she would have to give up because her arms were aching, he rolled on to his back, dragging a towel over his lower limbs.

Helen's lips parted in alarm, but his eyes showed nothing but a faint admiration. "You're good;" he remarked, without a trace of embarrassment.

But Helen was embarrassed. He was decidedly too attractive in this mood, and she had enjoyed touching him too much.

"I - I - how did you know it was me?" she exclaimed.

Dominic smiled, a lazy smile that showed his even white teeth. "Bolt has a much heavier hand," he replied "Why did you do it?"

Helen looked down at her wet hands, making an involuntary gesture. "I - I wanted to," she answered honestly.

Dominic's eyes narrowed and he sat up on the slab in one lithe easy movement. "That's a very provocative thing to say," he commented quietly.

"Is it?" Helen was glad of the orange light to hide the brilliant colouring her cheeks.

"You know it is."

Rivulets of perspiration were running down his arras and his chest, his hair was artificially darkened by the damp atmosphere. But Helen did not move away. His eyes were on a level with hers and there was none of that mockery in them that she had grown to expect. On the contrary, they had a disturbingly sensuous softness, and her throat felt suddenly dry. He put out his hand, curving it behind her neck, under the weight of her hair, his thumb probing her jawline. Still she did not move. She felt riveted to the spot.

"Oh, Helen," he groaned huskily, and propelled her face to his, his mouth moving caressingly against her cheek and around the parted softness of her mouth.

She stood in that partially stooped position, her knees trembling, waiting for the revulsion she usually felt at the touch of Mike's lips to come. But it didn't Instead, she moved her face against his, seeking his mouth with her own, and when it finally made contact all her preconceived ideas of what kissing could be were dispelled by a force of emotion stronger than herself. Dominic's mouth parted hers, it wasn't soft and moist, but hard and demanding, and the pressure of his hand on her neck increased until she stumbled against the slab and was gathered close to the lean strength of his body. Dominic swung his legs to the floor, holding her against him, his hands cupping her nape as he continued to kiss her.

"Dear God!" he muttered unevenly, lowering his mouth to the scented hollow between her breasts, visible above the open neckline of her shirt. "This is insanity! "

Helen hardly heard him. Her arms were about his neck, her hands were in the thick hair which grew low on his neck, she was beyond coherent thought in a world Where only she and Dominic existed, where it was imperative that he should go on holding her and kissing her in this urgent, passionate way, making her overpoweringly conscious of his own throbbing masculinity.

His hands at last closed over her upper arms and with a supreme effort he put her away from him, getting to his feet and wrapping the towel about his hips. He raked his fingers through his hair add then limped awkwardly away from her, bearing down heavily on his uninjured leg.

Helen watched him helplessly. "Dominic..." she murmured questioningly. "Dominic, is something wrong?"

He cast an impatient glance at her over his shoulder. "For God's sake, Helen, you can't be that naive! You know what's wrong!" he responded violently. "Have you any idea what you're doing to me?"

Helen licked her lips. "I - I know what you're doing to me," she ventured.

He swung round irritably. "You shouldn't have come down here," he muttered vehemently. "I shouldn't have let you -" He broke off abruptly. "I think you'd better go."

Helen stared at him disbelievingly. She couldn't accept his summary dismissal. She was on fire with an emotion She only vaguely understood, but that Dominic was the instigator of that fire she had no doubt.

"Dominic -" she began again. "Please don't be angry-"

"Angry? Angry? Lord, how do you expect me to be?" He looked down at his injured hip and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "Helen, get out of here! Now! Before I change my mind."

Helen had made no move when the door opened and Bolt came into the room as he had that evening three days ago. This time, however, his reaction was more acute.

"Helen!" he exclaimed. "You're soaked to the skin!" Hecame close to her and put a hand on her forehead. "You're on fire! What in heaven's name have you been doing?" His gaze flickered to Dominic and a strange look crossed his face. "Do you want to be ill again? "

Helen dragged her gaze from Dominic's. "I'm -all right, Bolt. Really. I - er - I'm hot because of the heat in here, that's all. And I'm wet because I've been sweating."

Bolt clicked his tongue impatiently. "I suggest you go into the shower room and make use of it," he stated dryly. "If you can tell me where a change of clothes is, I'll go and get them for you."

"Really, that's not necessary-"

"On the contrary, I think it's very necessary," returned Bolt, putting down the bottle of oil he had been carrying. "You don't mind waiting a few moments longer, do you, sir?"

Dominic shook his head and turned away. Bolt took Helen's arm and drew her determinedly out of the sauna room and into the changing area. "That's the shower," he indicated, closing the sauna room door with a firmness that belied his real feelings. "Now where are your clothes?"

Helen flushed, but she could see that there was no point in trying to evade the issue. "You'll find - underclothes in the dressing table drawer. And the corduroy jeans and sweater I was wearing a few days ago are hung together in the wardrobe."

"Good." Bolt was pleased. "Now, you get that shower. I'll be back before you're finished."

It was good to take a shower again, and Helen revelled in the warm stimulating spray, but her thoughts were still with Dominic Lyall in the sauna room. She re-lived the past few minutes in intimate detail, finding a vicarious thrill in recalling the pressure of his firm mouth on hers, and the sensual hardness of his lean muscular body. She closed her eyes and felt again the surge of urgent need he aroused within her and wondered how she could ever have imagined that she was without emotion. But no man had aroused her as he had done, aroused her and yet left her with a hunger that only complete surrender to him could assuage.

Her cheeks flamed anew. Here she was, actually contemplating making love to a man who was keeping her here against her will! She must be mad! Crazy! Insane, as he had said.

She sobered. The shower was cooling and so was she. She had done it again, hadn't she? She had allowed him to catch her off guard. Or was that entirely fair? Hadn't it been wholly her fault that he had touched her? Hadn't she been the one to arouse him by the silent supplication he had felt beneath her hands?

Someone was rapping on the door, and she called: "Who is it?" rather tremulously.

"Me - Bolt! Your clothes are outside the door. I'm going to give Mr. Lyall his treatment. Can you manage alone?"

Helen answered that she could and when she emerged into the gymnasium carrying her dirty things she felt infinitely cleaner. She wondered what she ought to do with her soiled clothes. She had no washing powder, but perhaps Bolt had, and maybe she could attend to them herself. She decided to leave them in the kitchen and mention them at lunch, but when she reached the ground floor a staggering thought struck her. If Dominic was in the sauna room and Bolt was massaging his hip, the study was empty...

With a thumping heart she dropped her clothes in a heap in the corner and hurried out into the hall. Fortunately there was no sign of Sheba either, although she opened the study door with extra caution just in case. But the room was deserted, as she had hoped, and closing the door quietly behind her she hurried across to the window ledge where she had first seen the telephone. She dragged the curtain aside. The phone was still there and her fingers shook as she reached for it. Who should she phone? Her father in London, or the local police? No, not the police, she decided quickly. She didn't want to involve the police in this.

She put the receiver to her ear and then, with her brows drawing together in perplexity, saw the thing she had not noticed before. The cord that was attached to the base of the telephone was hanging loosely against the wall. It was not attached to anything. It had been disconnected.

She dropped the receiver as if it had burnt her and stood back aghast. She felt a tremendous sense of betrayal, out of all proportion to what had occurred. After all, Dominic had told her he did not have the use of a telephone. It was her fault that she had seen the receiver and imagined it must needs be connected. It merely proved that he had not been lying to her after all.

With hunched shoulders, she tugged the curtain back into position, biding the cream telephone from view, and left the study. She was glad that no one had come upon her there and found toa: making a fool of herself. She went slowly up the stairs to her room. So the telephone was out. That particular escape route was to be denied to her. That only left the Range Rover, and she didn't even know where that was.

She couldn't bring herself to go downstairs again before lunch. She told herself it was because she was sick and dejected, but truthfully it was because she didn't feel she could face Dominic again. Not yet...

When she eventually did go down, it was to find Bolt in the kitchen, setting the table for two. He looked up cheerfully as she came in and said: "So there you are! I was beginning to think I would be having lunch on my own. Did you go back to bed?"

Helen shook her head. "No. I - I was resting."

"Good idea."

Bolt went on about his business and Helen fidgeted with the cutlery at her side of the table. "Is - er - is Mr. Lyall not having any lunch?"

"He's having a sandwich in his study,” said Bolt, straining potatoes over the sink.

"Oh, I see," Helen felt contrarily disappointed now that she knew she would not be seeing him after all.

Bolt turned back to her. "Helen -" He paused. "Helen, don't get involved here. I'm telling you for your own good."

Helen concentrated on the scrubbed surface of the table. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Look, it's nothing to do with me and you can tell me to mind my own business, if you like, but I'm not blind, you know. I can guess what happened this morning."

Helen sat down rather suddenly. "Can you? Why? Has it happened before?"

Bolt gave her an impatient look. "No, it hasn't happened before. But I know Dominic pretty well by now, and - well, I just hope you had the sense to -" He broke off, obviously finding it difficult to express himself.

"He didn't seduce me, if that's what you're trying to say," said Helen flatly.

Bolt's broad features turned slightly pink. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Helen."

"You keep saying that. How am I going to get hurt?"

"By getting involved with Mr. Lyall."

"Isn't that rather disloyal?"

Bolt sighed, sinking down into the seat opposite. "Helen, let me tell you something, something very few people know. Dominic blames himself for the accident -the accident that killed his brother."

Helen's eyes widened in dismay. "Why?"

Bolt hesitated. "I can't tell you. Besides, it's a long story."

"But you must tell me!" Helen rested her elbows on the table, staring at him. "Bolt, please! I want to know."

The manservant shook his head rather doubtfully. "Mr. Lyall wouldn't like it."

"Need he know?"

"And what happens when you leave here? When you return to your family? Who else will learn the truth then?"

"No one. I swear it"

Bolt made a negative gesture. "I find that hard to believe."

Helen held up her head. "I don't tell lies."

"I'm not suggesting you do. Just that you might -well, inadvertently say something at some time..."

"Oh, Bolt!" Helen cupped her face in her hands. He studied her dejected features for several seconds and then said perceptively: "It's too late, isn't it? You're already involved."

Helen's fingers moved over her cheeks "I don't know." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't want to be. I keep telling myself that I should hate him for Keeping me here -but I don't." She grimaced. "To think when I left London I was running away from men! "

Bolt frowned. "Are you sure you're not confusing sympathy with - something else?"

Helen gave a mirthless laugh. "I don't know. I don't know what to think. I only know that when he comes near me..." She halted abruptly. "Is - is his limp a permanent thing?"

"Oh, yes," Bolt nodded. "Part of his hip was shattered in the crash. The surgeons had to remove the splinters of bone."

"I see."

"At the time, when he recovered from the initial injuries, they wanted to operate again, to insert an artificial piece of bone to take the place of that which had been shattered, but Mr. Lyall wouldn't allow them to do it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Everyone tried to persuade him, but he wouldn't have it. It was as though he wanted a permanent reminder..." Bolt sighed. "Naturally it aches when he stands too long, and his spine becomes painful. That's when massage can help."

"I understand." Helen listened intently. "I know a little about such things. My mother suffered from terrible headaches and she used to like me to massage her temples and the back of her neck." She hesitated. "Oh, Bolt, won't you tell me why Dominic blames himself for the crash?"

Bolt got to his feet. "He believes his brother tried to kill himself because he'd discovered that his wife was in love with Dominic."

"What?"

Bolt made an involuntary gesture. "Francis followed in his father's footsteps and joined the Army. He met Christina when he was out in Cyprus. He got married without telling anyone and brought his wife home. She was a bitch. As soon as she met Dominic - well, that's better left unsaid. Sufficient to say she persuaded Francis to leave the Army and take up motor racing as his brother had done. Francis wasn'tcut out to be a driver, but that didn't matter to her, and he was infatuated enough to try anything. He 'had a few laces, did averagely well, but that wasn't enough, of course. Dominic was winning his races, and Christina liked a winner."

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