Impetuous Masquerade

Jared Frazer hesitated only a moment longer, and then turned abruptly towards the door, preceding her along the narrow entrance hall with long powerful strides.

He pulled the door open into the corridor, then halted, glancing down at Rhia closely behind him. ‘You’ll be all right?’ he asked, unexpectedly gentle after his earlier animosity, and Rhia caught her breath.

‘I—yes,’ she stammered awkwardly, and his lean mouth twisted into a wry smile.

‘I’m sorry if I was brutal,’ he offered, and she shrank back in alarm when he lifted his hand. But all he did was brush one errant tear from her cheek, his brown fingers light and cool against her overheated skin.

‘I—will—will Glyn’s parents be coming to England?’ Rhia asked hastily, overwhelmingly conscious of the unwelcome intimacy promoted by that disturbing gesture, and to her relief he moved out into the corridor.

‘Glyn’s father was my elder brother,’ he remarked, with resumed curtness, as if he was loath to explain himself to her. ‘He’s dead. I came on behalf of Glyn’s mother, my sister-in-law. Since my brother died, I’ve accepted the role of Glyn’s guardian.’

‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Rhia cleared her throat. ‘Well, goodnight, Mr Frazer.’

‘Goodnight, Miss Mallory,’ he returned politely, and she closed the door heavily as he walked away towards the lift.

With the safety chain in place, Rhia moved reluctantly down the hall again and into the living room. She was still trembling and for the moment she seemed incapable of coherent thought. Hardly thinking what she was doing, she gathered the contents of her handbag together and stuffed them all back inside, fastening the press-stud securely before looking round the living room.

It was not an unattractive apartment, with its patterned broadloom and neat three-piece suite, but she couldn’t help speculating what Jared Frazer had thought of it, and wondered rather irrelevantly what his home was like. Probably ultra-smart and ultra-modern, she decided, wishing she knew more about Glyn’s background. But Valentina’s overtures on the subject had been short and apathetic, and Rhia had not been sufficiently interested to question her further. Besides, she had never expected the information to have any relevancy, and only now did she realise that apart from his name, and the college he attended here in London, she knew next to nothing about him.

With a sigh, she put up a hand to her hair, discovering to her dismay that it was almost completely loosened from its pins. What must Jared Frazer have thought of her? she reflected irritably. Remembering the elegance of American and Canadian women she had seen on television and in magazines, she decided that he had probably mistaken her for a slob. What with red eyes and a runny nose, and her hair looking as if it hadn’t seen a brush in days, he had every reason to despise her; and even the brace skirt, which had looked so attractive this morning, was now creased beyond reason after the soaking it had taken at lunchtime.

Shaking her head, she turned out the living room lamps and went into her bedroom. In the light from an apricot-shaded bulb, she surveyed the damage. As she had expected, she did look a mess, her mascara smudged and uneven, and little, if any, make-up left on her face. Oh well, she thought bitterly, she had more important things to think about than her appearance. Where on earth was Valentina, and how could she hope to gain anything by hiding away?

Stripping off her clothes, Rhia went into the bathroom and erased the offending mascara, cleansing her face thoroughly and cleaning her teeth. Then, with her skin soft and glowing, she put on her cotton nightgown and sat down to brush her hair at the mirror before tumbling into bed. Her hair fell in a silken curtain almost to her waist, thick and smooth and lustrous, and completely straight. Only when she bound it in braids did it assume a kinky texture, but generally she preferred it as it was now, a skein of beaten gold. It was her best feature, she decided, ignoring the violet beauty of her eyes, and the generous width of her mouth. And Valentina had always made her feel overweight, comparing Rhia’s more voluptuous curves to her own sylph-like figure. Where was Valentina? she asked herself again as she climbed into bed, but her emotional exhaustion soon eliminated even this thought from her mind.

It was light when she awakened, and a reluctant glance at the alarm clock informed her it was after nine o’clock. Not late, by Saturday standards, but anxiety, and her conscience, made her reach for her dressing gown.

It was chilly in the apartment, and she turned on the central heating before drawing back the curtains and going to plug in the kettle. Then, gathering the daily newspaper from the letter box, she made her way back down the hall.

On impulse, she opened her father’s bedroom door, the room Valentina used while he was away. It was the smaller of the two bedrooms, their father insisting that as they were to share and have single beds, the two girls should have the larger room. While her sister was in residence, the room generally looked a mess, with discarded clothes left on the bed and Valentina’s make-up adorning the dressing table, and after her visit yesterday, Rhia was quite prepared to find the place in disorder. But it wasn’t. It was reasonably tidy, and what was more, the dressing table tray was empty of any cosmetics.

With a feeling of apprehension Rhia entered the room, running her fingers over the surface of the chest of drawers where Valentina kept the nightwear and lingerie she used when she was at the apartment. Hardly aware that she was holding her breath, Rhia pulled open the drawers, one by one, her fingers quickening when she discovered they were empty. Only a discarded pair of tights still resided in the bottom of one of the drawers. Otherwise, all her sister’s belongings had gone.

Expelling her breath on a gasp, Rhia hurried to the wardrobe, wrenching open the doors and standing back aghast when she found that here, too, her sister’s clothes had gone, leaving only her father’s spare suits and jackets hanging there.

Turning, Rhia surveyed the room blankly. So that was why Valentina had come to the apartment; that was what she had been doing when Jared Frazer interrupted her. No wonder she had panicked and lied. She must have been planning to leave all along.

But leave for where? Rhia’s brain simply couldn’t come up with a single idea. Surely she must have left a note, something, anything, to reassure her sister that she would be coming back. But although she searched the flat from hallway to bathroom, there was nothing to indicate where Valentina had gone.

The kettle had boiled and gone cold again while Rhia was conducting her search, and she switched it on again weakly, realising how suspicious her sister’s disappearance would appear. The police were bound to want to see her, to ask questions, and if Valentina wasn’t around, they might question her.

Might! Rhia’s lips twisted bitterly. If Jared Frazer had anything to do with it, there’d be no possibility of improbability. He was not going to take this lying down, and who knew? Perhaps they would put out a bulletin for Valentina’s arrest.

Rhia shook her head. Yesterday afternoon she had thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, but it had. This man Frazer had arrived, practically breathing fire, and Valentina had disappeared. Dear God, what was she going to do?

It was while she was drinking her tea that she decided she would have to talk to Simon. She had to talk to someone and there was no one else she could confide in. Simon would listen, she thought, with some relief, Simon would understand. But she couldn’t wait until their date that afternoon. She had to talk to him now.

Tucking her legs under her, Rhia curled up on the couch and picked up the telephone, dialling Simon’s number with fingers that persistently hit the wrong digits. She had to dial the number three times before she made the connection, and then, when the receiver was lifted, it was Mrs Travis, not Simon, who came on the line.

‘Oh, Mrs Travis, is Simon there?’ Rhia asked urgently, clutching the plastic handset tightly. ‘I—er—I’d like to speak to him. It is rather—important.’

‘I’m afraid he’s not up yet, Rhia,’ Mrs Travis replied firmly. ‘He’s had such a busy week. I’m sure the poor boy was exhausted.’

‘Well, do you think you could get him up, Mrs Travis?’ Rhia persisted anxiously. ‘I—I wouldn’t trouble you normally, but this is urgent.’

‘What is it? Perhaps I can help.’ Mrs Travis was evidently unprepared to wake up her son and bring him to the phone unless it was absolutely necessary, and Rhia sighed.

‘No. No, I have to speak to Simon,’ she insisted, hearing the older woman’s cluck of impatience. ‘Honestly, Mrs Travis, I wish you would just ask Simon to speak to me.’

‘Oh—very well.’ Mrs Travis gave in. ‘But I trust it’s something important, and not simply a ruse to get him to come round there. He’s promised to set out some seedlings for me this morning, and I want him to do them while it’s fine.’

Rhia didn’t answer her. She couldn’t, and with another sound of irritation, Mrs Travis went away.

It seemed ages before Simon eventually came to the phone. Rhia herself grew impatient, and she sat, drumming her fingernails against the vinyl arm of the couch, inwardly praying that he could help her.

‘Rhia?’ At last, Simon’s unenthusiastic voice broke into her prayers. ‘Mother says you insisted on speaking to me. What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?’

‘I’m—all right.’ In truth, Rhia felt far from well, but it was not something an aspirin could cure. ‘Simon, I have to talk to you. Could you come round to the flat—right away? I don’t know what I’m going to do!’

Her voice broke on the final words, and Simon responded with a little more warmth. ‘Look, Rhia, what is it, love? Can’t you tell me now? You’ve got my undivided attention.’

‘I can’t discuss it over the phone,’ Rhia insisted huskily. ‘You’ve got to come round here, Simon. I’m sorry, I know your mother won’t like it, but I’ve got to see you.’

‘But I am seeing you—this afternoon,’ Simon pointed out reasonably. ‘Can’t—whatever it is wait until then?’

‘No.’

‘Rhia——’

‘Don’t you dare tell me you’ve got some gardening to do!’ Rhia almost screamed the words. ‘Don’t you understand, Simon? This—this is a matter of—of life and death! What do I have to say to make you believe me?’

‘All right, all right.’ Simon spoke hastily, trying to calm her down. ‘Now, don’t get in a panic. I’ll come. I’ll get there just as soon as I possibly can. Just—take it easy.’

‘Take it easy!’ Rhia choked back a sob. ‘All right. But—be as quick as you can, will you?’

After Simon had rung off, Rhia went to get dressed. There was no point in hanging about in her dressing gown. And besides, the police could arrive at any moment. With her clothes on, she would feel infinitely more capable of facing them.

She put on jeans and a mauve silk shirt, and secured her hair at her nape with a leather thong. But she left it loose, having no patience for coiling it up into a neat roll today, and discarded the idea of make-up because her hands were too unsteady.

She was dressed and ready in half an hour, with her bed made and a pot of coffee perking on the ring. But it was fully another hour before Simon turned up, and she looked at her watch pointedly as she let him into the apartment.

‘I know, I know.’ Simon moved his Harris-tweed-clad shoulders half indignantly. ‘But I’d promised Mother to put in some cabbages and cauliflowers——’

‘Cabbages and cauliflowers!’ Rhia almost choked over the words, but she said nothing more until they were both standing in the living room.

She couldn’t help comparing Simon’s broad-shouldered stockiness to the lean-limbed frame of the man who had stood there the night before. There was no similarity between them, and Simon’s reddish-brown thatch bore no resemblance to Jared Frazer’s night-dark head of hair. They were different in so many ways, and she wondered what Simon would say if she told him how savagely Glyn’s uncle had treated her.

‘Well?’ Simon thrust his hands into the hip pockets of his twill trousers. ‘I’m here. What was so urgent it couldn’t wait until three o’clock?’

‘It’s almost that now,’ muttered Rhia childishly, and Simon sighed.

‘It’s half past eleven,’ he corrected her dryly. ‘Hmm, is that coffee I can smell? I could do with a cup.’

‘Haven’t you had any breakfast?’ demanded Rhia sarcastically. ‘I’m sure your mother wouldn’t send you out without the requisite number of calories.’

‘I have had some toast and marmalade,’ Simon admitted, somewhat defensively. ‘Rhia, what is all this about? I knew something was wrong last night, but you wouldn’t discuss it then.’

Rhia went into the small kitchen and poured two cups of coffee, curiously reluctant now he was here to actually broach what she had to say. How would Simon take it? Would he threaten to go to the police? How well did she really know him, when they were not even lovers?

‘It’s Val,’ she said at last, carrying the coffee back into the living room and handing him a cup. Simon had made himself comfortable on the couch, but now he put the paper he had been scanning aside and gave her his full attention. ‘She’s disappeared.’

‘Disappeared!’ At least her words had the ability to cause Simon to halt in the process of raising his cup to his lips. ‘What do you mean—she’s disappeared? Has she been abducted—run away? What?’

‘Not abducted,’ declared Rhia definitely, perching on the edge of the chair opposite. ‘She’s taken all her things—at least, all the things she kept here, at the apartment. I don’t think a kidnapper would wait around for her to pack.

Simon stared at her. ‘And—you knew this last night?’

‘No. No, of course not.’

‘So what was upsetting you last night?’

Rhia sighed heavily. Then, in as few words as possible, she explained her meeting with Valentina the previous lunchtime, omitting only the fact that her sister had been driving the car.

‘My God!’ Simon was evidently stunned. ‘And you think she’s run away because she’s afraid she’ll be implicated?’

‘Something like that.’

‘But—what the hell! It wasn’t her fault. I can’t understand why she would feel the need to cut and run. It doesn’t make sense.’

Rhia bit her lip. ‘Perhaps—perhaps there’s more to it,’ she ventured.

‘But what?’ Simon was endearingly obtuse. ‘It seems to me she’d have done far better to admit that she was with him when the accident happened. The police are bound to find out. They always do.’

‘Do they?’ Rhia looked at him anxiously.

‘Of course they do. And in any case, it’s a silly thing to do, running away. It encourages people to think the worst, to imagine you’ve got something to hide.’

‘Perhaps she has.’ Rhia hesitated. ‘Perhaps—perhaps she was driving. How—how about that?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Simon sniffed. ‘Val can’t drive, you know that.’

‘But—what if she was?’ probed Rhia cautiously. ‘I mean, young people do crazy things.’

‘If I thought that, I’d have no sympathy for her,’ retorted Simon grimly, shattering once and for all Rhia’s hopes of confiding everything. ‘No, no. Val may have been reckless, a bit of a tearaway when she was younger, but she wouldn’t do a thing like that. Good heavens, that would mean she was guilty of manslaughter, if the chap dies.’

Rhia buried her nose in her coffee cup. She felt near to desperation herself, and now that Simon had proved so virtuous, where could she turn?

The sound of the doorbell ringing brought her head up however, and what little colour she had drained out of her face. Who was that? she wondered in dismay. The police! Having discovered Valentina was not at the hospital where she worked, had they come looking for her?

‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Simon was looking at her in surprise. ‘You did hear the doorbell, didn’t you? Perhaps it’s Val. Perhaps she’s forgotten her key. Perhaps your fears were unfounded.’

Rhia had distinct doubts that this could be so, but she could not ignore the caller, whoever it was. If she didn’t answer the door, Simon would; he was already half out of his seat, as if growing impatient of her hesitation.

Putting down her coffee cup, Rhia smoothed her damp palms down over the seat of her jeans and walked determinedly along the hall. As she went, she mentally rehearsed what she was going to say, deciding with resignation that she could not pretend she didn’t know what it was all about. Valentina had disappeared, she would tell them that. What they chose to make of it was not her concern.

When she opened the door, however, it was not the blue uniform of a police constable that confronted her, but the grey suede waistcoat of a three-piece suit. And the man who was wearing it with such indolent assurance was the man who had briefly terrorised her the night before.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.