know very well that I had gone there with a reporter who was doing research for an article,’ she protested.
‘But who came to the police station and managed to convince the police of that? Who got you away from there before it became public knowledge, and your picture appeared on the front page of all the tabloids?’ Christi pounced triumphantly.
‘You did,’ Dizzy conceded heavily. ‘And now I owe you one, right?’
‘Oh, no, Dizzy!’ Her friend sounded genuinely shocked at the suggestion. ‘It isn’t a question of paying me back. I was just trying to point out that we’re friends, and that friends try to help each other when they can.’
Dizzy gave an indulgent smile, easily able to visualise Christi’s earnest expression: that faintly hurt look in enormous blue eyes that dominated the beauty of her face. Christi was tall and elegant, with a natural serenity and kindness; Zachariah Bennett had to be dense not to be able to see that.
Dizzy sighed, freely acknowledging that Christi was the best friend she had ever had. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Come up here and—–’
‘Not that, Christi,’ she protested, visions of being sent to bed at nine-thirty by Christi’s ancient uncle flashing through her mind. A truly free spirit, just the thought of it reminded her too much of her childhood.
‘—show my uncle just what an irresponsible person is!’ Christi finished triumphantly, totally deaf to Dizzy’s protest.
‘Thanks!’ she grimaced ruefully.
‘Don’t go and act all wounded on me,’ her friend chided lightly. ‘You’ve deliberately cultivated your life-style, enjoy having no permanent home, no visible means of support, no real belongings except what you carry about in that cavernous sack you call a shoulder-bag, and the pack you throw on your back.’
‘I admit I like to travel light—–’
‘Travel being the operative word,’ Christi derided. ‘I never knew of anyone wearing out their passport before!’
‘I didn’t wear it out,’ she protested. ‘It just got—a little full,’ she excused dismissively.
‘Exactly,’ Christi said with satisfaction. ‘You’re everything that my uncle would consider irresponsible; drifting through life, staying with friends whenever you get the chance—–’
‘Christi—–’
‘And God knows where you live the rest of the time,’ Christi concluded in a starchily disapproving voice—as if she were quoting verse and chapter from a too-familiar sermon.
As indeed she was! Dizzy had heard those very same words from her father too often not to know where they came from. After hearing the same thing for years, she had taken Christi home with her once as self-defence; but even her friend’s presence hadn’t prevented the usual lecture. Obviously Christi had never forgotten the humiliating experience, either!
‘I thought you also called me friend,’ Dizzy reminded her drily. ‘Although I’m beginning to wonder about that!’ she mocked.
‘My uncle doesn’t have to know that,’ Christi dismissed. ‘We can say you’re just an old school acquaintance of mine who happens to be—–’
‘Drifting through,’ Dizzy finished derisively.
‘Exactly,’ Christi said eagerly. ‘And of course I’m your friend,’ she defended indignantly. ‘Goodness, we know that none of that drivel is true. And, even if it were, it wouldn’t make any difference to those of us that love you. You’re the most generous, giving, totally unselfish—–’
‘Enough, enough,’ she drawled ruefully. ‘When do you want this drifting wastrel of an acquaintance to arrive on the castle doorstep, expecting another hand-out?’ she prompted drily.
‘Today,’ Christi pounced eagerly.
Dizzy had been expecting that, otherwise there would have been no need for this hasty call in what was, to her at least, still the middle of the night. ‘And who will take care of your food-stealing pets if I leave?’ she reminded lightly.
‘Lucas will come in from next door and do that,’ Christi dismissed. ‘They all love him, and he usually does it for me if I go away. And if you hate looking after the cats and dog so much, how come they are always completely spoilt after one of your visits? Last time you came to stay, Gladys and Josephine spent the next week sniffing my food cupboard, looking for your tins of pilchards. And I just bet Henry is sharing your bed right this minute!’ she announced disgustedly.
Dizzy looked down guiltily to the foot of the bed, where the Yorkshire terrier was curled up, asleep, on the quilt. ‘He gets lonely in the kitchen at night,’ she defended. ‘And he has such soulful brown eyes that I don’t have the heart to say no to him.’
‘A pair of soulful brown eyes and loneliness are not reasons to take him into bed with you! He—–Oh, damn, I think I heard someone coming.’ Christi lapsed back into that desperate whispering. ‘I’ll see you later, OK?’ she urged frantically, sounding more and more like a hounded animal.
The impression didn’t in the least endear the idea of going up to the Lake District to Dizzy, to show herself off as some lost cause just so that Zachariah Bennett could say to Christi, ‘Thank God you didn’t turn out like her, here’s your money and welcome to it’!
If it really were going to be as easy as that…
* * *
Dizzy had heard much about the beauty of the Lake District, and as her travels usually took her out of the country, rather than around it, this was the first time she had ever seen this lovely part of England.
But nothing she had heard about the Lake District had prepared her for the scenery before her now. No one had told her she could expect to see naked men, one naked man in particular, as he cavorted about in one of the smaller lakes!
As Christi had said, the man in the flat next door to hers had been only too happy to pet-sit Gladys, Josephine and Henry, and so the only hitch there could have been to her setting off for Castle Haven had neatly been removed.
In the clear light of day—after several more hours’ sleep—Dizzy was less sure than ever that Christi’s plan was a good one. It might work if Zachariah Bennett—the old curmudgeon!—could be made to believe she and Christi were just acquaintances, but the two of them had been friends since their first term together at boarding-school over twelve years ago. The familiarity of a friendship like that might be a little difficult to disguise. A telephone call to Christi to tell her just that had elicited the information that her friend had gone out for the morning with her uncle, and so, not knowing what else to do, Dizzy had set out for the castle. They would just have to hope for the best when she got there.
It had been a pleasant trip up on the train. She might be a free spirit, she thought, but she wasn’t stupid—it was no longer safe to hitch-hike, if it ever had been! Enquiries at the station, when she got off the train, had told her that the castle was about eight miles away and, after the long train journey, stretching her legs for a few miles sounded like a good idea.
The
