Escape from Desire
‘I’m not so sure it is,’ Nigel astounded her by saying. ‘In fact I have a strong suspicion that our author is using more fact than fiction, but is carefully disguising it to lessen the blow.’
The outline Tamara had read concerned a dangerous leakage from a Winscale-type plant, and the authorities’ determined suppression of that fact, and the frightening results of the suppression. Tamara had found what she had read chillingly frightening, and she looked a little uncertainly at Nigel, asking him.
‘But how could it possibly be true?’
‘I don’t know. But I do know that he has contacts pretty high up in the Army and he may have got the initial whisper from them. Ah, this looks like it,’ he commented as iron gates suddenly loomed up at the side of the road.
The small lodge seemed to be deserted, so Tamara had to climb out of the car to open the gates. The drive was choked with weeds, and the grounds a wilderness of rhododendrons and azaleas.
‘It must have been lovely once,’ she commented as she caught a glimpse of a small lake, choked with weed, and then the drive forked abruptly, causing Nigel to frown slightly over his instructions.
‘The right fork is the one we take,’ he told Tamara. ‘The main house isn’t being used at the moment—something about problems with the roof, so we want the Dower House.’
They found it round a long curve in the drive, and Tamara caught her breath in delight when she saw the perfect Regency house with its graceful shape and symmetry, the warm brick dyed rose-gold by the sun.
Nigel aparked his BMW next to the elegant Porsche. Obviously Nigel’s new find wasn’t exactly short of money, Tamara reflected as she followed her boss up the shallow flight of steps.
A middle-aged man of soldierly bearing opened the door to them and they stepped into a rectangular hall with a beautiful double staircase curving up to an overhanging gallery. Tamara had a brief impression of white and gold décor, and the magnificence of a Waterford chandelier, and Adam decor, and then one of the doors leading off the hall opened and everything else faded from her mind as she stood rooted to the spot, every shred of colour fading from her face, leaving it as matt white as the beautifully painted walls.
‘Zach!’ Nigel was striding forward, his hand extended, unaware of Tamara’s frozen stance. ‘Great to see you. Can I introduce my assistant to you? Tamara, come and meet our new author-to-be.’
Somehow she found herself moving forward, as mechanically as a jointed doll, her lips stiff with the effort of maintaining the rictus smile she had pinned to them, a cold clamminess invading her body, her eyes unable to meet the cold green ones she remembe
red so well.
‘Tamara and I have already met,’ Zach murmured expressionlessly. ‘In the Caribbean and then again more recently. She’s engaged to a neighbour of mine. Tell me,’ he invited, turning to Tamara, ‘have I managed to convince your fiancé yet that I have no intention of allowing them to hunt over my land?’
Tamara made a suitably noncommittal reply, glad of the shadows in the hall to conceal her flushed expression. She could feel Nigel watching her with sudden speculation, and all her fears crystallised when she heard him saying to Zach,
‘You met in the Caribbean, you say? Quite a coincidence. Did you enjoy your holiday?’
‘It had its moments.’
Tamara dared not look at either of them. She bitterly regretted confiding in Nigel to the extent of telling him that she had fallen in love with someone she had met on holiday. He was far too astute not to guess the truth, but surely he wouldn’t betray her?
She held her breath when Zach said to Nigel, ‘I understand you’ll soon have to look for a new secretary?’
‘Er …’ For a moment Nigel looked perplexed and then he said cheerfully, ‘Oh, you mean when she gets married? Oh, she’ll be with me for quite a while yet, no firm date has been set—has it, Tamara?’
‘No,’ Tamara agreed huskily.
‘Lunch is ready, Colonel,’
Colonel! Tamara’s eyes swung to Zach’s impenetrable face. That was something he hadn’t told her during their imprisonment together. When she had talked about being in charge she had assumed he meant as a Captain or a Major.
‘Johnson tends to forget that I’ve left the Army,’ Zach explained dryly as the manservant disappeared silently. ‘He was under my command and invalided out, but the old habits die hard.’
Tamara’s mind whirled. Zach had told her that he had to prove that he was no longer afraid of the jungle and she had assumed he meant because of his career, but now it seemed that he was no longer in the Army, and yet he had proved beyond a shadow of doubt that he had overcome the devils haunting him.
‘Colonel, eh?’ Nigel murmured as they followed Zach into a pleasantly furnished dining room. Most of the furniture was antique, but it possessed none of the heaviness of Malcolm’s parents’ antiques. The dining room overlooked lawned gardens to the rear of the house, and some attempt had obviously been made to clear the flower beds of the choking weeds. Stately trees framed the rear of the garden, an attractive terrace apparently running the width of the back of the house, its stone balustrade weathered with age.
Johnson returned to pour them sherry, his manner stiff and very correct. He would shield Zach like a guard dog, Tamara sensed, and woe betide anyone who crossed him.
‘Mrs Wilkes is ready to serve lunch now, Colonel,’ he informed Zach woodenly, before departing.
‘I think Johnson is trying to tell me that if we don’t sit down there’ll be hysterics in the kitchen,’ Zach commented humorously. ‘Actually I’m very fortunate in having both Johnson and Mrs Wilkes, although they to tend to be rather like oil and water. Johnson, you see, is a confirmed woman-hater, while Mrs Wilkes is, I suspect, looking for a second husband. However, she’s an excellent cook. I saw your fiancé the other day,’ he commented to Tamara without changing his tone of voice. ‘He was out riding with a rather attractive brunette—Karen, I believe he called her.’
‘Yes, that would be Karen Anstruther,’ Tamara replied with commendable composure, refusing to rise to what she knew to be a deliberate taunt. ‘She’s Malcolm’s secretary and her parents are close neighbours of his.’