was still staying at the castle? That she had given up her room to Julie? It didn’t make sense.
She turned down the lamps, closed the wardrobe door, and left the bedroom walking swiftly along the shadowy gallery to the spiral staircase. Before going down she looked upward, seeing the spiral disappear towards some upper section of the building. Were there other floors? And if so, did anyone occupy them?
She shook her head. She was becoming fanciful. The sooner she went downstairs and stopped speculating about things that did not concern her, the better it would be.
When she reached the lower hall she looked round. Now she could see that the reason the hall was not completely circular was that two doors had been set into the panelling and beyond them no doubt lay Jonas’s private rooms, the rooms Mrs. Macpherson had mentioned.
She was hesitating about which door to open, when a voice behind her said quietly: ‘Did you find the accommodation to your liking?’
She swung round to find that Jonas had come along the passage without her being aware of it and was standing supporting himself with one hand against the arched stonework of the aperture. He had clearly washed, too, and combed his hair which now lay smoothly against his head, flicking over the collar of his shirt at the back. He had also added a maroon velvet waistcoat which went well with his dark attire.
Mentally squaring her shoulders, she replied: ‘Everything seems very comfortable, thank you.’
Jonas’s mouth turned down at the corners and straightening he passed her to open one of the doors she had been hesitating over.
‘Won’t you go in?’ he invited, standing aside for her to do so. ‘This is my sitting-room. I spend most of my free time in here. The room next door is my study. We can have a drink before Mrs. Macpherson arrives with our meal. I’ve told her we’ll eat in here this evening.’
Julie entered another strikingly attractive room. It was a curious shape, having three straight walls and one curved one, but its decoration more than made up for its lack of design. A soft apricot and olive green carpet flowed into every corner, no doubt to allay the chill of stone floors, long velvet curtains in matching shades covered the narrow windows, while soft cream leather armchairs and a well-worn cream and green tapestry-covered couch looked superbly comfortable. A small display case contained some exquisite Wedgwood pottery, while the shelves that flanked the fireplace were filled with books and magazines. Another log fire burned cheerfully in the grate and the flames winked on the collection of bottles and decanters which stood on the open flap of a cocktail cabinet. It was an elegant room, and yet it had a relaxing, lived-in sort of atmosphere, and as it was much smaller than the bedroom upstairs it was also less imposing.
Jonas closed the door and nodded towards the chairs and the couch. ‘Sit down,’ he suggested, walking towards the cocktail cabinet. ‘What can I offer you to drink? Sherry? A Martini? Or do you still like Pernod?’
‘I’ll have a dry Martini, if I may,’ she replied, sitting down in one of the soft leather armchairs. Pernod, like the medallion, had too many associations with the past.
Jonas shrugged and turned to pour her drink, pouring himself a generous measure of Scotch as he did so. Then he handed the glass to her and came to sit near her on the tapestry couch, stretching out his long legs towards the fire. He swallowed half his Scotch without any effort, and then looked sideways at her.
‘So,’ he said, ‘and how are you?’
Julie stiffened. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
His eyes assessed her critically, moving over the severely styled hair, the tweed suit, to the slender legs concealed in the suede boots. ‘You’re thinner. Don’t you eat enough – or not often enough?’
Julie endeavoured to return his gaze coolly. She determined not to let him disconcert her again. ‘I don’t think my eating habits are any concern of yours,’ she retorted.
Jonas’s eyes were disturbingly intent. ‘I thought we had agreed to call a truce,’ he commented mildly.
Julie sighed. ‘All right. I’m fine. I eat as much as I need. As far as I know I’m perfectly healthy. Does that answer your question?’
Jonas raised dark eyebrows. ‘You’re becoming shrewish, Julie. It doesn’t suit you.’
Julie looked down at the glass in her hands. She was trembling, in spite of all her good intentions. ‘Jonas – I didn’t want to come here, to take this interview. It was all Mark’s idea—’
‘Mark Bernstein?’
‘Yes.’ She looked up. ‘Do you know him?’
‘I know – of him.’ Jonas felt in his pocket and drew out a case of cheroots. Putting one between his teeth, he said: ‘You don’t smoke, do you? I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything but these.’
Julie shook her head and watched unobtrusively as he reached for a taper and lit his cheroot from the fire. He inhaled with evident enjoyment, and then went on: ‘If you didn’t want to come here – why did you?’
Julie sipped her Martini. ‘You know why.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Jonas shook his head. ‘Oh, I admit, I insisted that it was you who interviewed me for the magazine, but you could have refused.’
‘Mark would never have forgiven me.’
‘And that’s important to you?’ His eyes narrowed.
‘To my career – yes.’
‘Ah, I see. Your career.’ He swallowed the remainder of his Scotch and rose to pour himself another. ‘And is Berstein also responsible for your appearance?’
Julie stared at his broad back indignantly. ‘What do you mean?’
He turned, his eyes assessing her again. ‘The way you wear your hair – that suit! You used to have excellent dress sense.’
Julie felt herself colouring. ‘My appearance is no more important than my size!’
‘I disagree.’ He leaned back lazily against the cabinet. ‘I think you dressed that way to annoy me. I wonder why.’
‘To annoy you!’ Julie could hear her voice becoming shriller, but there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’
As it happened, there was a knock at the door then and at Jonas’s summons Mrs. Macpherson entered the room wheeling a heated food trolley. She seemed to have noticed nothing amiss, and Julie reflected that the thick walls and heavy doors no doubt cut off all but the most piercing sounds.
‘There you are, sir,’ she said, spreading a cloth over a side table and drawing it forward. She turned to Julie. ‘Shall I serve the meal, Mrs. Hunter, or will you?’
Julie shifted awkwardly in her seat. ‘I – er – I can manage, thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. It – it smells delicious.’
‘Och, it’s only a beef stew with dumplings and vegetables, and there’s a syrup pudding to follow,’ declaimed the housekeeper with a smile, but it was obvious that she was pleased. ‘I’ll bring your coffee along later.’
‘Thank
