Impetuous Masquerade

‘Rhia, you have no idea how I felt. I had to think of something, some reason why I hadn’t spent the night at the nurses’ home. I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I?’

Rhia was appalled. ‘There are times, Val——’

‘I know, I know.’ Valentina was sulky. ‘For heaven’s sake, it’s only a little thing.’

‘A little thing?’ Rhia clenched her fists. ‘If Glyn dies, you’ll have made me an accessory to manslaughter!’

‘He won’t die——’

‘I hope not.’ Rhia took a deep breath. ‘Because if he does, Val, I have no intention of standing by and letting you get away scot-free!’

Back at her desk that afternoon, Rhia found it incredibly difficult to concentrate. Her mind buzzed with the things Valentina had told her. She could hardly believe her sister could have got herself into such a mess, and the implications were all bad. At times like this, she wondered how she and Val could have the same parents and yet be so different. It made her doubt her own assessment of her sister, and she realised that since Val left school, a gulf had opened between them that she could never bridge.

Her immediate boss, George Wyatt, was not particularly sympathetic to his secretary’s loss of concentration. He was a man in late middle age, with all the accompanying afflictions of the successful business-man: a short temper, an expanding girth, and an ulcer. Generally, he and Rhia worked together very well, she competent and independent, well able to handle clients alone, if necessary, and adept at anticipating her employer’s every whim. She attended to his engagements, pacified his wife on occasion, and handed him his tablets when his ulcer was playing up; but this afternoon she was self-absorbed and absentminded, and Mr Wyatt lost no time in giving her the edge of his impatience.

‘Rhia, are you deliberately trying to annoy me?’ he demanded, pointing to the tray on his desk. ‘I’ve asked you twice to hand me the Macdonald file, and you’ve simple ignored me!’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Wyatt.’ Rhia was flushed and apologetic. ‘I’m afraid—I—er—I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.’

‘I wish that was all I had,’ retorted George Wyatt shortly. ‘This pain in my gut is tearing me to pieces, but do I complain?’

Frequently, Rhia was tempted to reply, but she merely gave a conciliatory shake of her head and tried to apply herself to his dictation. But it wasn’t easy, and later in the afternoon, checking the results of her shorthand, she hoped Mr Wyatt would not remember word for word exactly what he had said.

The board meeting was blessedly brief, and Rhia breathed a sigh of relief when she emerged from the building to find Simon’s car waiting in the staff parking area. The rain had ceased, and it was a mild April evening, the slowly illuminating lights of the city adding a sparkle to the darkening streets.

‘You’re early,’ Simon greeted her, as she slid into the seat beside him, and deposited an affectionate kiss at the corner of her mouth.

‘So are you,’ she agreed, returning his salutation warmly. ‘Thank goodness it’s Friday. I’m exhausted!’

‘You do look a little pale,’ Simon nodded, studying her features, despite the shadows of the car. ‘What’s wrong? Has Wyatt been rather tetchy again? I heard that his son was arrested for drunken driving the other evening.’

‘Did you?’ Rhia turned her face away, and moved her shoulders offhandedly. ‘Let’s go, shall we? I’m—starving!’

In truth, food was the last thing she needed, but Simon’s innocent remark had been too close for comfort. For the first time, she wondered if Valentina and Glyn had been drinking, and whether this was the reason Valentina had chosen to keep out of reach until morning.

‘By the way,’ Simon had noticed nothing amiss, ‘I’ve got tickets for the Bartok concert on Sunday. I know you said you weren’t terribly keen, but you’ll enjoy it, I know you will.’

‘Will I?’ Rhia gave him a swift appraising look. Right now, the idea of Bartok was like the idea of food—nauseating!

‘What’s the matter?’ At last Simon had detected some change in her attitude. ‘You seem—tense. Is anything wrong?’

‘No.’ Rhia forced a light laugh. ‘You know how it is. The weekend comes and you just feel like doing nothing.’

Simon frowned. ‘You’re not annoyed about Wednesday, are you? I just couldn’t get away. Those tiles in the kitchen have been impossible to match, and what with the rehearsals for the school play——’

‘Oh, no, honestly,’ Rhia hastened to reassure him. Simon took his work as a teacher very seriously, and it wasn’t his fault that his mother demanded so much of his free time. She was old, after all, and widowed, and Rhia sometimes wondered what she would do if Simon ever decided to move out. Perhaps she expected, if he got married, his wife would be prepared to move in, but Rhia knew she could never share a house with Simon’s mother. Mrs Travis was too set in her ways, too demanding, and certainly too attached to her son to allow any other woman to usurp her place in his affections.

‘You know what Mother’s like,’ Simon went on now, starting the car. ‘She hates the place to be in a mess, and the kitchen has taken longer than I expected.’

‘You have had to go to work as well,’ Rhia pointed out reasonably, glad to deflect him from her problems. ‘I think your mother forgets that.’

‘I know.’ Simon pulled out into the stream of traffic with a rueful grimace. ‘But it’s done now, and in future, we’ll be able to spend our free evenings together.’

‘Yes.’

But Rhia did not feel enthusiastic, and she had to make a determined effort to hide her misgivings as Simon rattled on about his day, and the play, and where they were going to eat that evening.

Chinese food was normally Rhia’s favourite, but this evening she only picked at her meal, pushing the chow mein round her plate in an effort to make it look less. Even so, she knew Simon had noticed, and when they were driving back to her flat, he cast her a doubtful glance.

‘You’re sure it’s not something I’ve done, Rhia?’ he ventured, taking one hand from the steering wheel to cover hers where they lay in her lap. ‘I mean, if it is, say so. I don’t like to think you’re keeping anything from me. We’re usually so close—very close.’ He squeezed her hands significantly. ‘In fact, I think it’s time we started thinking about the future—our future.’

Rhia extricated herself rather awkwardly and patted his hand. ‘Not tonight, Simon, mmm?’ she murmured, hoping he’d take the hint. ‘I really am very tired. I think I’ll stay in bed until lunchtime tomorrow.’

Simon took his dismissal with his usual good humour. ‘Okay,’ he said, bringing the car to a halt at the entrance to the apartment building. ‘I won’t press you now. But don’t expect the same privilege tomorrow.’

Rhia managed a faint smile. ‘Thanks, Simon.’

‘You’re not going to invite me in?’

‘Not tonight, no.’

Simon nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, leant across and kissed her. ‘Come on, then. I’ll see you to your door,’ he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek as he drew away, and Rhia touched his face tenderly before sliding out of the car.

‘There’s no need for you to come up with me, really,’ she exclaimed, as he locked the car. ‘It’s only half past ten. There are always people about.’

‘Nevertheless, I’d rather assure myself that you were safely home,’ Simon insisted, slipping his hand into hers. ‘Brr! It’s turning chilly. Let’s get inside.’

The block of flats was not new, and graffiti covered the walls of the entrance hall, and adorned the sides of the iron lifts that clanked their way to the upper floors. They were not attractive surroundings, Rhia had to admit, but the flats themselves were not too bad. The one Rhia’s father had leased had two bedrooms and a living area, as well as kitchen and bathroom, and the usual offices. When her father was at home, Rhia and her sister shared a bedroom, but while he was away Valentina had moved the things she kept at the apartment into his bedroom.

‘Here we are.’ The lift had deposited them at the sixth floor, and Rhia indicated her door only a few yards away along the uncarpeted corridor. ‘Don’t bother getting out, Simon, there’s no need. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’ Simon sounded a little disappointed, as if he had half expected her to change her mind and invite him in for coffee, but Rhia needed to be alone. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he agreed, tightening his grip on her fingers before letting them go. ‘I love you.’

Rhia was glad the lift doors closed before she could make any response. Aside from her anxieties about Valentina, she was not sure enough of her feelings for Simon to commit herself so completely. She liked him, she liked him very much, but love—love was something she had learned to live without.

She had loved her parents deeply, but they had found their children more of an encumbrance than anything, and boarding school had robbed her of their secure, if indifferent, presence. Then, when her mother died and she had thought her father might need her, he had proved otherwise, going off to South Africa with hardly a second thought for either her or Valentina. And now, Valentina was proving that Rhia didn’t know her either, and the idea of giving some man a similar kind of hold over her was not something she anticipated.

With a slightly dejected shrug of her shoulders, she trudged along the corridor to her door, fumbling in her bag for her key, paying little attention to anything else.

‘Miss Mallory?’

The brusque, yet attractive, tones set her nerves jangling, and she spun round tautly, automatically clenching her fingers round the strap of her bag, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary. She had heard nothing, she had thought the corridor was deserted, and looking up at the tall stranger standing right behind her now, she realised the vulnerability Simon was always speaking of. But the man had spoken her name, so he could not be a villain, could he? Why warn her of his presence, if he intended to attack her?

Certainly he did not look like a thief, but criminals were often plausible people. Where had she read that, or heard that? On television, probably. They were always warning women to be wary of any stranger, who might threaten their lives or their property, and this man was definitely a stranger. Her lips parted. Just because he was tall and dark-skinned and attractive there was no reason to doubt his duplicity, and her knees trembled violently as she struggled to remain calm.

‘What do you want?’

The involuntary question was a futile effort to gain time, but the corridor remained obstinately empty. The lift she had heard coming whined away past her floor, and she was alone and helpless, and hopelessly demoralised.