Running From the Storm. Lee Wilkinson
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‘Diana Mitchell, but everyone calls her Mitch.’
Then, recalling the time, Caris added hastily, ‘I’m all ready. I just need pick up my jacket and bag.’
‘It’s a pleasure to find a woman who’s prompt as well as beautiful.’
His words sent a little thrill of excitement running through her. But, knowing it was necessary to keep her feet firmly on the ground, she observed practically, ‘I need to be prompt. I’m hoping to be back here in time to put my luggage in the car and get down to Catona this side of midnight.’
Glancing at the waiting case and holdall, he asked thoughtfully, ‘Will you be doing much driving while you’re there?’
She shook her head. ‘None at all, I imagine. First thing tomorrow morning, Sam and I will be joining a small group of hikers who’ll be doing a five-day trek along the Rowton Way. But I need my car to get to Catona and back.’
‘If that’s all, I’ve a suggestion to make. The restaurant I’m planning to take you to is well on the way to Catona.’
Feeling suddenly breathless, she waited, wondering what was coming.
‘So, if we take your luggage with us, after we’ve eaten instead of bringing you back here I could drive you down to your friend’s. That would save a good deal of time.’
‘Oh, but …’
‘It would give us the chance to be together longer and have a more leisurely meal.’
The chance to be together longer …
Her heart doing strange things, she pointed out, ‘But then I wouldn’t have a car to get back.’
‘My house is only about twelve miles from Catona, so if you let me know when your vacation’s over I could quite easily pick you up.’
‘I couldn’t possibly put you to all that trouble,’ she protested.
‘It’s no trouble. If it had been I wouldn’t have suggested it.’ Briskly, he added, ‘Is this all the luggage you have?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there anything else you need to do before we go?’
Common sense told her she ought to dig her toes in and refuse to be hustled but, looking into those green eyes, she was lost.
‘Nothing else,’ she answered.
He put her jacket around her shoulders and handed her her bag, before picking up her case and holdall. ‘Then let’s get started.’
Feeling as if she was being swept along by a prairie wind, Caris allowed herself to be escorted out to a sleek silver sports car that waited by the kerb.
When her luggage had been stowed in the back and she had been helped into the passenger seat, Zander slid behind the wheel. ‘All set?’
She nodded.
The engine purred like a satisfied cat; they traversed the quiet square and joined the busy evening stream of traffic.
Some five minutes later they had left the outskirts of the city behind them and were heading roughly south-west.
Seeing the wooded peaks of the Catskills in the distance, she asked, ‘Where exactly are we going?’
‘The restaurant is called Le Jardin Romarin. It’s rather a special place, and they have an excellent French chef.’
‘How far is it?’
‘Not too far. It’s near the mountains, on the outskirts of a pretty little village called Bright Angel Falls.’
‘Oh, we once drove through Bright Angel Falls!’ she exclaimed. ‘I remembered it because it was such a lovely name.’
‘Do you know the area well?’
‘Not very well. But my father took me that way once or twice when I was younger, and I always thought it was really picturesque.’
‘So it is,’ he agreed. ‘That’s why I chose to buy a house in that area.’
If he had a house, as well as an apartment in town and a luxury car, he must be a relatively wealthy man; the way he dressed seemed to confirm that.
But, even if he hadn’t had a cent, with his looks and charisma it was a wonder he was still free.
They were following a quiet, spruce-lined road when he broke into her thoughts to remark, ‘We’ll soon be at the bridge that spans the Bright Angel Gorge. If you look to your left, you’ll get a good view of the falls. They’re quite spectacular.’
When they dropped down an incline, Caris saw the bridge ahead of them, and on the opposite side a small parking area from which a short but steep and narrow flight of rocky steps led down to a viewpoint guarded by a chest-high railing.
As they crossed the bridge, she glanced left, as she had been bidden. A series of delicate waterfalls, looking like skeins of bright spun silk, plummeted gracefully into the rocky depths; lit by the rays of the sinking sun, a rainbow arched in the air, forming a multicoloured halo.
Her first thought was that he had been right to call them spectacular. In fact even that adjective seemed to be something of an understatement.
When he glanced at her, as if trying to judge her reaction, she said a little huskily, ‘They’re magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.’
‘So is the gorge itself. But it’s so deep you can only see it properly by going down to the viewpoint.’
‘Could we do that? Have we time?’
‘If you want to go down, we’ll make time.’ As he spoke, he was drawing into the car park.
Having helped her from the car, he warned, ‘Better let me go first. Some of the steps are worn and uneven, and could be tricky with those high heels.’ Carefully, she followed him down and, standing by the railings, looked over into the gorge.
The tumbled rocks and surging white water far below took her breath away, and she was still gazing in wonder when her companion reminded her, ‘If you want to get down to Catona tonight we’d better be moving.’
The awesome scene still filling her mind, she held on to the metal handrail and began to climb back up the steps, Zander at her heels.
She had almost reached the top when she missed her footing and slipped off a step.
Her companion stopped her falling and held her steady until she’d had time to gather herself, before asking, ‘Any damage done?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ she answered.
But when she tried to climb the remaining steps she couldn’t prevent a gasp of pain.
‘What is it?’
Reluctantly,