my reactions were far too slow.’
‘Your reactions saved your life,’ he corrected.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. This was madness. ‘Was anyone killed, do you know?’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t heard any news, and Doug…’
‘Doug?’
‘Local police, and he wasn’t telling, even if he knew. All I know with any certainty is that it cut a great swathe through the forest towards Handcross. I told him you were here.’
She nodded, gave a little shiver.
‘Come on, you’re probably still in shock. Why don’t you go and sit by the fire?’
No, she wanted to deny, I’m not in shock. But then, he knew that, didn’t he? Knew she was fighting her feelings for him. Feelings that hurt. Because they were futile. She knew that. She really did know that. Following him out, she grabbed her jacket off the banister. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk. Go and look at your restaurant. I can get my notebook from the conference centre at the same time.’
‘I don’t have an umbrella…’
‘It doesn’t matter. Rain won’t hurt me.’
‘It will make you very wet.’ Walking across the kitchen, he opened a cupboard and removed a raincoat. ‘Use this.’
Reluctantly taking it, she asked hesitantly, ‘Was it…?’
‘Helena’s, yes. She hardly ever wore it.’
With a meaningless smile, she put it on. The sleeves were too short, the back too narrow, but she supposed it would keep the worst of the wet off. Pulling up the hood, she walked out.
Feelings were the damnedest things, weren’t they? Hit you without warning, scrambled you up…And she didn’t want to be wearing Helena’s raincoat.
Automatically circumnavigating fallen branches, whole trees, she sighed. She felt exhausted. And don’t, don’t, she cautioned herself, read anything into the fact that they had separate bedrooms. Lots of couples slept apart for one reason or another; it didn’t mean they weren’t in love. Didn’t mean he didn’t miss her dreadfully.
‘Not that way, miss…’
Turning with a start, she gave a lame smile to the young policeman behind her.
‘Electricity cables are still down,’ he explained.
Remembering the blue sparks of the night before, she nodded.
‘Although the power has been turned off. And there are a lot of unstable trees. Where were you headed?’
‘Nowhere,’ she denied. ‘Just having a look. My car’s somewhere around. Grey hatchback,’ she added helpfully. ‘Was a grey hatchback.’ And stupidly, idiotically, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘Only just hit me, I suppose…Sorry,’ she apologised again as she realised the unintended pun.
‘The grey car with the tree across it?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Yes.’
‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘You were lucky to get out.’
‘Yes, but not unaided. A Mr Beckford rescued me.’ And the policeman’s face changed. Because he was a suspected murderer? she wondered. She couldn’t think of any other reason. Unless he didn’t have a licence for his restaurant; or tax for his car. ‘I’m staying with him,’ she added defiantly, ‘until the roads are clear.’
‘You’ll be Miss Dean, then.’
‘Yes.’
‘He asked me to see if I could find alternative accommodation for you. He’s…’
‘I know what he is,’ she interrupted. ‘And I know what you think he is. And you’re wrong. I’d better get back. How long before the road is open? Do you know?’
‘Won’t be today…And I don’t think he’s anything,’ he reproved, ‘and he knows as well as I do that it isn’t wise for a young lady to stay with a gentleman who—might be vulnerable.’
‘Sorry,’ she apologised for the third time. ‘But I work for him…’
‘And you’re naturally protective,’ he finished for her. ‘All I’m saying is, be careful.’
‘I will.’
Turning away, she was aware of him watching her, and felt despair wash through her. If she was going to leap to his defence every time someone said something even slightly suspect, it wouldn’t be long before the whole area would know she was in love with him. No, not in love, she denied forcefully to herself. She didn’t know him. You couldn’t be in love with someone you didn’t know. Could you? But she did know he hadn’t killed his fiancée. Do you, Carenza? How very clairvoyant of you. Kicking irritably at a tree branch, she pulled the wide hood back in place and held it with both hands.
Coming out on to a small slip-road, she turned along it. Branches littered the surface, together with sundry other rubbish. A car hub-cap, a black plastic sack, a child’s woollen glove, and a sieve, all blown there by a capricious wind, she supposed. A few yards further on was his restaurant. And this she liked. No fancy name or sign, just a long stone building that had been left as it was meant to be. A plaque by the main door said simply, ‘The Barn.’
There was no menu board, nothing at all to say what it was. A no-frills establishment with excellent food? A small red car was parked to one side, with, thankfully, no damage.
Hands still holding her hood in place, she walked along the side and peered in one of the leaded windows. No fancy tablecloths, no fancy lamps, just good quality wooden tables and chairs. It was too dim inside to see very much else and so she walked round to the other side, and saw Beck. Hands shoved into his pockets, he was staring rather grimly at the wall to one side of the small terrace that presumably, in the summer, allowed diners to eat outside.
Moving quietly to join him, she too stared at the wall. ‘Mur’ had been sprayed in black paint. A discarded aerosol can lay below it.
He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the wall.
‘Not very nice,’ she commented quietly. ‘There’s only one word I can think of off hand that begins with “mur”.’
‘Yes.’
‘And either they were interrupted or the storm frightened them off.’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t seem very surprised, or shocked.’
‘No, it happens with rather boring frequency.’
Turning to look at her, he said almost sombrely, ‘You look like a very wet pixie.’
‘Troll,’ she corrected. ‘I’m too big for a pixie.’ Turning abruptly away, she said over her shoulder, ‘I’ll go and get my notebook.’
