Unwilling Surrender

She frowned, confused that she should even be thinking about Adam Palmer considering her sexy. Sexy, of all things. There was about as much chance of that as of Mrs Molton giving her corgis up for adoption.

Besides, she didn’t care one way or another what he thought of her. Once upon a time she had, but she had since learnt that fairy-tales and reality were poles apart, and that a girl with her lack of looks was destined to forge a career and leave the posing to other, more beautiful models.

‘Let’s hope it’s worth it,’ she replied impassively, ignoring his personal remark and concentrating on getting the conversation on to a safer topic. ‘Fiona can be stubborn and she isn’t going to like being followed around by her big brother.’

‘Which is why you’re here. She values your opinion.’

‘Oh, great,’ Christina muttered with a sigh, ‘as if I’m any authority on relationships.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He gave her a swift sidelong glance. ‘I gathered from my sister that in between the cups of cocoa and the early nights your love-life wasn’t exactly non-existent.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she gagged, going bright red and swearing to throttle Fiona as soon as she could lay her hands on her. ‘No, don’t repeat your remark. I heard it perfectly well, and I can only say that it’s none of your business.’

‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Call it natural curiosity.’

‘There’s nothing natural about wanting to pry into my private life just for the sake of small talk. And it’s not curiosity, it’s nosiness. I don’t ask you about what you do with those women of yours.’

‘No, you make lots of generalisations instead.’

This was getting out of hand. She reached down and fiddled with the dials on the radio until she tuned in to one of the local channels.

‘Is that a hint?’

‘No,’ she said with heavy sarcasm, ‘I’m genuinely interested in the farming news.’

She pursed her lips and looked out of the window, and next to her she could feel him grinning like a damned Cheshire cat and she wanted to hit him. Hard.

Two more hours, she thought with a groan, two more hours before we get there.

CHAPTER THREE

AT LEAST the weather was fine. It was freezing cold, though beautifully warm inside the car, and with that crisp clarity that marked a fine British winter’s day.

The farming news eventually gave way to a programme on classical music, which Christina rather enjoyed, and she focused her attention on the scenery outside. The trees were bare of leaves and as they left civilisation behind the landscape took on a bleak, rugged beauty that was awe-inspiring rather than appealing.

The main roads petered out into a series of much smaller roads, which the Range Rover handled well, although, with darkness rapidly descending, Adam was concentrating hard on the driving, the lines on his face grim as he manoeuvred the car round bends and down the twisty lanes.

What a place to pick, Christina thought. Hardly Fiona’s style, and not at all up Simon’s alley, if she had read him correctly. He was more the sort who liked hanging around the smart set, and a cottage in the middle of nowhere could hardly qualify as that.

The thoughts drifted through her head as they drove in silence, but not an uncomfortable one.

It was quite dark by the time they finally made it to their destination.

The cottage was set down a narrow path and overlooked a loch. It was beautiful in spring and summer, but eerie in the depths of winter.

As the car slowed down to accommodate the erratic nature of the path, Christina leaned forward in her seat and peered around her, trying to see beyond the patches of landscape illuminated by the headlamps of the car.

Outside, she could almost hear the silence. It was a nerve-racking feeling, especially after London. A bit, she imagined, like being whipped into the black hole, lost in time and space.

She laughed nervously and turned to Adam.

‘Spooky, don’t you think? I can remember thinking that last time I was here with Fiona and your parents, and it hasn’t changed.’

‘It has got a timeless quality about it,’ he concurred absent-mindedly, driving dead slow now. ‘Don’t you find that charming?’

‘I find that off-balancing,’ Christina said honestly. ‘I think I’ve become far too accustomed to all the noise and chaos in London.’

‘A city girl,’ he murmured, making it sound like an insult.

‘It’s where the work is,’ she responded tartly, wishing she hadn’t bothered to try and make conversation.

They lapsed into silence and she waited to see the impact of the cottage as they cleared the final bend. Its location had always impressed her. It was so startling against the deserted landscape, like a beacon keeping watch over the loch, guarding against evil spirits.

They turned the bend and the very first thing she noticed was that the cottage was in pitch-darkness. She felt her stomach plummet and a sick feeling of dreadful anticipation rose up into her throat. Adam was frowning heavily. He stopped the car outside the front door and looked at her.

‘I don’t see any lights, do you?’

Christina didn’t answer. She was desperately trying to make out if there was a car parked at the side of the house, but she couldn’t see a thing. No car, no lights. No Fiona.

‘Perhaps they’ve popped out for a minute,’ she said feebly.

‘Popped out? Where? Down to the local nightclub? There’s nowhere around here to pop out to, is there?’

He stared at her impatiently, his eyes glittering in the darkness inside the car, and she felt her temper flare.

‘Shall we go in?’ she asked, trying to keep a polite face on things. She pulled down the door-handle and opened the door, not giving him the chance to hurl any more accusations at her.

Besides—who knew?—Fiona and Simon might well be inside the cottage. With the lights out. Having a romantic evening. Maybe their car was parked at the back. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She knew that she was clutching at straws, because a little part of her desperately did not want to be here, alone, with a man who could still make her pulse race however hard she told herself not to be a fool.

She heard him slam his own car door behind him and she didn’t look around. She stood by the front door, patiently waiting for him to unlock it, which he did with a grim expression on his face.

He pushed open the door, to an isolated and freezing cold cottage, and then turned to her.

‘Well, so much for your bloody girlish confidences. No sign of life here, or did you deliberately bring me here on a wild-goose chase?’ He didn’t give her the time to answer. He switched on the lights, and then began walking briskly out of the door.

Christina raced behind him and yelled out, ‘Where are you going?’

No reply. He heaved their cases out of the back seat and then strode back inside.

‘Don’t worry, much as I’m tempted to leave you here after having led me here on this wasted trip, rest assured that I won’t.’

He dumped the cases on the ground and she followed him into the tiny kitchen, furious that he was blaming her for this. Her! As if she had dragged him kicking and screaming out here! As if she had held a gun to his head and demanded his co-operation! When in fact it had been the other way around!

‘I did not lead you here! And I resent your implication that this—’ she gesticulated to the deserted cottage ‘—that this is all my fault!’

‘Well, whose fault is it? You told me that this was where she was, didn’t you? Or maybe that was just a little ploy to get me up here when you knew perfectly well that Fiona was somewhere else, probably a thousand miles away in the opposite direction! I was crazy to have believed a word you said. I might have guessed that you were in cahoots with my sister. Who knows? Maybe it was your idea that they take off. Maybe all that sincere concern about Fiona and Simon and their incompatibility was just a clever front. After all, clever is the one thing you are. And still waters run deep, so they say!’ He looked at her narrowly until she began to feel giddy. What was he thinking?

‘Or maybe,’ he continued, his voice as hard as ice and cold with speculation, ‘there was another reason you dragged me up here.’