Dark Castle

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 you, Mrs. Macpherson.’ Jonas accompanied her to the door and then closed it behind her.

Meanwhile, Julie was examining the various contents of the heated dishes. The meal smelt even better when she removed a steel lid to reveal a steaming dish of beef stew with tiny dumplings bobbing about its surface.

With a wry smile, Jonas seated himself opposite her, watching her, and forcing a composure she was far from feeling, she said: ‘Shall I serve yours?’

‘Sure. Why not?’ He inclined his head. ‘I like most things, you know that. I had to when we first got married, if you remember.’

Julie did remember, but she refused to rise to the bait and ladled some vegetables on to a plate and covered them with the savoury stew. Then she passed the plate across to him and served her own. She gave herself only a very small quantity of everything and was aware that Jonas had noticed. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he got up and brought a bottle of wine from the lower compartment of the cocktail cabinet and poured two glasses.

Although Julie had not expected to enjoy the food, she did, and the wine was a pleasing accompaniment. Eating at least curtailed conversation, but she was aware of Jonas’s eyes upon her from time to time.

The syrup pudding was as light as any she had tasted, and there was a jug of fresh cream to pour over it. Jonas, she saw, ate with obvious enjoyment, but his lean muscular frame seemed not to be showing any ill effects from Mrs. Macpherson’s generous helpings.

Julie finished first and gathered the dirty plates together and put them on the lower shelf of the trolley. Jonas finished his second helping of syrup pudding and lay back, replete, swallowing the dregs of the wine in his glass.

‘That’s better,’ he remarked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘A few weeks of Mrs. Macpherson’s cooking and you’d soon fill out.’

‘I have no desire to fill out, thank you,’ returned Julie, pushing the trolley aside. ‘I was never a filled-out person!’

‘No – but you were nicely rounded,’ replied Jonas unabashed.

Julie sighed and glanced pointedly at her watch. She was amazed to discover it was half past nine already. ‘Er – do you think Mrs. Macpherson will be long with the coffee?’ she asked. ‘I really am rather tired. I didn’t sleep much on the train last night, and I could do with an early night.’

‘An early night?’ Jonas lit himself another cheroot. ‘You disappoint me, Julie. I was looking forward to some after-dinner conversation.’

Julie drew a deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t have thought you were short of after-dinner conversation, Jonas,’ she said sharply.

Jonas frowned. ‘No? Why not? Have you no pity for a – lonely man?’

‘A lonely man?’ Her eyes were drawn to his. ‘Oh, come on, Jonas, that’s taking things a little too far, don’t you think?’

He considered her mockingly. ‘Do I denote a trace of maliciousness in your tones?’

‘No. No, why should there be?’ Julie hunched her shoulders, half regretting her outburst.

‘That’s what I’m asking myself.’

She sighed. ‘Oh, let’s stop all this verbal fencing!’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’

Julie hesitated. ‘All right. I – I opened a drawer. In the bedroom. I saw some – clothes.’

‘Ah! I begin to comprehend.’ Jonas inhaled deeply.

Julie stared at him, waiting for him to explain. But he merely nodded to himself and lay there, lazily blowing smoke rings into the air. She felt angry and frustrated, the more so because she guessed he would know how she was feeling, how eaten up with curiosity she was. But he was not about to satisfy her.

Her hands clenched. Cool down, she told herself furiously. What did it matter? She didn’t care whose clothes they were. This time tomorrow she would be long gone, and she hoped she never had to set eyes on him again. She would see her solicitor when she got back to town. A divorce shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange, not after all this time, and then she would be free – really free.

Another knock heralded the return of Mrs. Macpherson, this time carrying a tray on which reposed a jug of coffee, cream, sugar, and two cups.

‘Now – did you enjoy your dinner?’ she inquired anxiously.

Julie forced an enthusiastic note to her voice. ‘Very much, Mrs. Macpherson. That syrup sponge was out of this world! You must give me the recipe before I leave.’

‘Before you leave, Mrs. Hunter? But you’ve only just got here—’

‘Mrs. Hunter means when we return to London,’ put in Jonas smoothly, levering himself off the couch and confronting Julie’s indignant stare. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. We shan’t need you any more tonight.’

‘No, sir.’ Mrs. Macpherson moved slowly towards the door, propelling the trolley before her. ‘Oh, by the way, Rob’s taken up Mrs. Hunter’s cases. I hope you’ll be comfortable—’

‘I’m sure you’ve done everything to ensure that,’ interposed Jonas patiently, although it was obvious he was eager to have the housekeeper outside the door. ‘Good night, Mrs. Macpherson.’

‘Good night, sir. Good night, Mrs. Hunter.’

‘Good night.’ Julie spoke automatically, but as soon as the door was closed she sprang to her feet, and said: ‘Exactly what did you mean by that?’

Jonas was calm again, leaning back against the door with indolent grace. ‘By what? What did I say?’

‘Oh, stop it, Jonas, you know what you said. Look, I don’t know what you’ve told these people – or why you couldn’t have introduced me as – as a reporter from Peridot and nothing more! But the fact remains that Mrs. Macpherson imagines we’re a normal married couple and that I’m here on some sort of holiday!’

‘Don’t get so heated about it.’ Jonas drew lazily on his cheroot. ‘You want an explanation? All right, I’ll give you one. My grandmother knew I was married. Naturally Rob and Jennie Macpherson knew I was married. Around here, marriage means something.’

Julie shook her head confusedly. ‘Your grandmother?’

‘Laura Drummond. I inherited Castle Lochcraig from her.’

‘Mrs. Drummond! Oh! I see.’

‘I gather Mrs. Macpherson has mentioned her to you.’

‘Well, yes. She – she said that I’m sleeping in her bedroom.’

‘That’s right. You are. My grandparents always slept in the master bedroom. In the old days, things were done in style. It was my grandfather who had the gallery built on the upper floor. Until then, all the rooms led out of one another, which was rather awkward if one had visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘My grandfather did quite a lot of modernization one way and another, installing bathrooms and plumbing, central heating …’

It explained why the inner wall of the gallery was not as thick as the outer wall, but it didn’t really answer her question.

‘The Macphersons have never met me,’ she protested.

‘No. But they did see the wedding photographs. You remember there were photographs. Rather good ones, if I remember correctly.’

‘But – but your grandmother wasn’t at the wedding.’

‘No,’ he said again. ‘She was very old when she died. Too fragile to travel all the way to London just for the wedding of her grandson.’

‘But you never mentioned that she lived in a Scottish castle. That you expected to inherit.’ Julie was still groping to find some reasonable motive in all of this.

‘Would it have made any difference if I had?’ he queried levelly, and her nails dug indignantly into her palms.

‘Of course not. You know what I mean.’

‘Umm.’ He straightened, flexing his back muscles. ‘Well, I didn’t expect to inherit. The castle has always passed to the eldest heir. My mother, who incidently didn’t get on with her mother – my grandmother was a rather autocratic old lady and didn’t approve of my father at all – had a brother, my Uncle Stuart. He was expected to inherit. Unfortunately, Stuart never married, and he was killed eighteen months ago in an air disaster in Switzerland.’

‘I see.’ Julie tried to absorb this. ‘Was that when you came back to England?’

‘No.’ He moved away from the door and as this movement brought him nearer to her, Julie bumped down rather jerkily into her chair again. ‘I came back about a year ago. I lived in London for a time, working on my novel, and then when my grandmother died I came here.’

‘You – were – in London?’ Julie made a helpless little gesture. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Why should you?’ His eyes challenged hers. ‘I was the last person you wanted to see, wasn’t I?’

Julie looked down at her hands, regretting her momentary lapse. But she had always had the feeling that if ever Jonas returned to live in London she would know about it, sooner or later.

‘I still don’t understand why, if it was going to create so many difficulties, you insisted that I came here.’

‘Did I say it created difficulties?’

‘No, but—’ Julie moved her shoulders indifferently. ‘So – if I accept your reasons for revealing my identity, unnecessary though they seem, what do you intend telling Mrs. Macpherson when I leave tomorrow?’

Jonas walked to the hearth and stood with his back to the fire, feet apart, the cheroot between his teeth. For a few moments he seemed to be considering what she had said, staring broodingly towards the heavy oak door. Then the dark eyes were turned on her.

‘Let’s face that when we come to it, shall we?’ he suggested evenly.

Julie pressed her lips together. She didn’t altogether trust him or his motives. She could imagine her mother’s and Angela’s horror if they could somehow see her now. In their estimation there would be absolutely no excuse for her being there. And even Julie herself had found no good reason for Jonas’s insistence of her taking this interview. Not to mention the disturbing question of those clothes …

Her head was beginning to ache from so much confused thinking. With a sigh, she got to her feet again.

‘Would you have any objections if I went to bed now?’

Jonas threw the end of his cheroot into the fire. ‘But you haven’t had your coffee,’ he pointed out.

Julie looked down at the exquisitely arranged tray. Mrs. Macpherson had obviously taken a great deal of trouble with it, but she could not stand any more of this ambiguous conversation. She needed to be alone for a while, to absorb what had been said, to try and make some sense of it all.

‘I really don’t think I want any coffee, thank you,’ she replied tautly. ‘I know my way to my room. So – so I’ll say – good night.’

‘Good night, Julie.’

Jonas inclined his head enigmatically and she moved towards the door. For a moment she was tempted to reveal her feelings, to confront him with her fears and suspicions, to see how he would react. But then reason prevailed. Unless she included the summons that had brought her here, he had done nothing to arouse her antagonism. Since her arrival, he had been unfailingly polite, and the accommodation he had provided for her was more than adequate.

Why then did she continually suppose there had to be some ulterior design behind it all? Had her own traitorous reactions to him in some way coloured her reasoning? She had known it would not be easy before she came here. Jonas had been, and would always be, a disturbingly attractive man, and it was natural that she, who had once been his wife in every sense of the word, should still experience a certain amount of awareness of his physical attractions. She could have refused to come, she admitted that now. But she had wanted to prove to herself that anything she had felt for him really was dead, and not just numbed by the shock of his guilt at the time of his betrayal.

She opened the door and looked back at him. He was standing staring into the fire and for a moment was unaware of her scrutiny. There was a curiously vulnerable twist to his lips as he stood there, and something inside her contracted painfully.

With a jerky movement she put herself outside the door and closed it behind her, closing her eyes for a heart-stopping moment. No, she told herself vehemently, no! Jonas knew every trick in the book, and she would not be fooled again.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN Julie awoke next morning it was to the sound of the wind whistling eerily round the battlemented towers of the castle. The sound momentarily distracted her, arousing a feeling of warmth and security which was quickly dissipated as she remembered where she was. She blinked rapidly and reached for her watch from the bedside table, unable to judge from the dull light probing the heavy curtains exactly what time it might be.

The astonishing discovery that it was after eleven brought her upright in the huge bed, hugging herself as the chilliness of the bedroom swept over her. The fire had gone out and the heating wasn’t sufficiently powerful yet to have taken the iciness from the air. She crossed her arms protectively across her breasts, and as she did so she saw a tray of tea standing on the table on the opposite side of the bed.

She frowned, then she leant across and put tentative fingers against the bowl of the teapot. It was cold. Whoever had brought the tea had brought it some time ago. She quivered. Had it been Jonas? Had he stood beside the bed and watched her sleeping? The thought was disruptive, although looking down at the plain cambric nightdress she thought she had been more than adequately covered. But no, it would have been Mrs. Macpherson, and she had clearly decided to let her sleep on.

But now Julie was alarmed. She had yet to see Jonas and conduct that interview with him. She had notes to make and questions to be answered, and very little time to do it in.

She pushed her feet out of bed and stood for a moment looking about her. Then, unable to resist the impulse, she ran across to the window and pushed aside the curtains. The view that confronted her was not inspiring, shrouded as it was by a grey curtain of steadily falling rain, but she could imagine the beauty of the loch deepened to blue by a clear sky, and the distant hills shadowed with purple heather. The mainland was vaguely visible, but it seemed quite a long way away, and there was no sign of life either there or on the fir-clad slopes that fell away below her windows.

With a grimace, she opened the curtains to let a little more light into the room and went into the bathroom to wash. The water was reasonably hot and the activity warmed her. In the bedroom again, she knelt to her opened suitcase and took out some fresh underwear. Then she began to dress, reaching automatically for the white blouse and tweed suit. But they weren’t there!

She frowned, shivering a little in her flimsy undergarments, and made a thorough examination of the room. But it was useless. The blouse and suit had disappeared.

Her lips tightened. Someone had taken them away. And she didn’t think she had to be a mind-reader to guess who that someone was. She seethed. How dared he? He had criticized her clothes last evening, but that was quite a different matter from stealing them. Or perhaps stealing was too strong a word – confiscating them was nearer the mark.

Her fists clenched. Just what did he hope to gain by it? Did he imagine he had any rights to dictate what she should or should not wear? And what did he expect her to do now that he had taken her only outer garments? She could hardly go downstairs in her pants and slip!

She felt furiously angry, and her weakening response to his assumed vulnerability of the night before seemed like a betrayal of herself. What was she going to do now? She badly wanted to see him, to confront him with his duplicity, but she was confined here because she had no clothes.

She stared angrily round the room, wondering whether she could cover herself with the bedspread, when her eyes alighted on the wardrobe. There were clothes in there in plenty and surely some of them might fit her. Why shouldn’t she see if there was something she could wear? Anything was better than having to remain here like a prisoner until he chose to come and release her. Unless … Unless he had locked her in!

The thought sent her scurrying to the door, but it opened to her touch and she sighed with relief, closing it again and leaning weakly back against it.

She opened the wardrobe. What should she choose? Something plain and simple, but what? She sighed. It might be as well to see if anything fitted her first. She took out a cream slack suit and pulled on the trousers. They fitted very well, only the waistline being a little big for her. The jacket was the same. It could have been made for her, or perhaps for her as she had once been …

She thrust the idea aside and considered her reflection in the mirror. The suit needed no shirt or blouse, and she decided it would do. She suddenly had no desire to try on any more of the clothes.

With trembling fingers she brushed her hair and coiled it on to her nape. But her fingers were shaking so much that she couldn’t get the hairpins to stay in place and it kept falling silkily about her shoulders again. She sighed frustratedly. Oh, damn, she thought, was nothing to go right for her today? She would have to leave it loose.

She took another reluctant look at her reflection before leaving the bedroom. The image confronting her was utterly different from yesterday. She had always suited slack suits, and the warm creamy colour accentuated the glow of her skin. The smudges had gone from beneath her eyes and the loosened hairstyle made her look younger than her twenty-four years, deepening the colour of her eyes, drawing attention to the full beauty of her mouth. She was not beautiful, she knew that, indeed it had always been a source of amazement to her that Jonas Hunter should ever have shown any interest in her. Angela was much more his type of woman, tall and lissom, with a classically beautiful face and figure, and the kind of silvery hair that always attracts attention.

But Julie was apt to judge herself rather harshly against Angela’s more obvious charms, and failed to realize that the warmth and personality which emanated from her more than made up for a conventionally pretty appearance.

Now she picked up her briefcase and handbag, and balancing the tray with one hand went along the gallery and down the spiral staircase. She could hear the rain beating against the windows as she descended and couldn’t help thinking how cosy the castle would be on a winter’s evening.

Reaching the hall, she looked about her and then walked determinedly towards Jonas’s living-room door. But the living-room was empty and she frowned, setting down the tray, which was beginning to weigh heavily on her arm, on the table where they had eaten the night before. She sighed. Where was he? Then she nodded. Of course – he was probably working. He had told her that his study was next door.

She walked out of the living-room and knocked impatiently at the study door. She was tempted just to barge in, but her confidence would not stretch that far, resentful though she was.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Hunter. Are you looking for your husband?’

Mrs. Macpherson’s voice behind her was gently querying. Julie turned. ‘Oh, good morning, Mrs. Macpherson. Yes. Yes, I’m looking for – for him. Do you know where he is?’

‘Of course, madam. He’s away to Achnacraig—’

‘Achnacraig!’ Julie was horrified.

‘Yes, madam.’ Mrs. Macpherson frowned. ‘Is anything wrong? He told me you were still sleeping and that he didn’t want to disturb you. Was there something you were wanting?’

Julie opened her mouth to tell her, to denounce Jonas and his double-dealing, and then she closed it again. ‘I – no. No, not really.’ She sighed. ‘My – er – the tray’s in the living-room. I brought it down. I’m afraid it was cold when I woke up.’

‘Ah!’ Mrs. Macpherson nodded. ‘You slept well?’

‘Very well.’ Julie was short. She twisted her hands together. ‘Er – when – when will Mr. Hunter be back? Did he say?’

‘I don’t suppose he’ll be long, madam,’ Mrs. Macpherson smiled. ‘If you’ll go into the living-room, I’ll make you some more tea. Or perhaps you’d prefer coffee. And a lightly boiled egg, perhaps?’

‘Oh, really, no.’ Julie shook her head. She felt sick. She couldn’t eat a thing. ‘I – some coffee would be just fine, Mrs. Macpherson, thank you.’

‘Coffee it shall be.’ Mrs. Macpherson ushered her into the living-room and collected the unused tray of tea. ‘Now you sit here by the fire and keep warm. It’s a terrible morning. I’ll bring the coffee directly.’

‘Thank you.’

Julie obeyed. There was little else she could do. She wondered if Mrs. Macpherson had noticed the suit she was wearing and whether she had recognized it as belonging to someone else. She ought to have asked the housekeeper what had happened to her own clothes, but perhaps it was as well not to involve anyone else in what was purely a personal matter.

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