Carmichael's Return

He stood beneath the tree—that tree which the day before had stretched out its arms towards her. She knew now that it had not been repelling her, but drawing her nearer and nearer. And nearer still to the darkly threatening figure of the stranger who lurked in its shadows. Then she was in front of him, wishing she could stop her heartbeats from shaking her whole being.

He was so tall she had to tilt her head to search his face, but his features were in shadow, the lights from the house only illuminating his body from the chest down.

His arms were folded, his shoulder supported by the trunk of the tree. His long legs were crossed indolently at the ankles and a heavy backpack, which had plainly just been shrugged off, was lying beside him.

Lauren’s eyes dropped involuntarily to his hips, looking at his pockets.

‘I have no gun.’

So he’d heard the warning shouts. His statement had come tonelessly and Lauren found herself believing him, although why, she did not know.

His hands came out and her heart nearly jumped into her throat. ‘I have these.’ The words came softly from the semi-darkness. ‘But I use them to caress a woman, not to harm her.’

‘Will you please go?’ Her voice sounded hoarse, and she clasped her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. ‘This is a private party on private property.’

Eyes staring, she watched as his hand went again to a pocket, but she relaxed as he drew out a handkerchief. Her gaze followed its path to his forehead from which, to her puzzlement and surprise, he seemed to mop perspiration. The night-time air was cool, so his action could surely only mean that he, too, was afraid. Of her?

As he replaced the handkerchief his hand seemed to shake, yet to Lauren, staring at him in the semidarkness, his whole demeanour seemed to be one of self-assurance verging on arrogance.

There was a long silence while he sized her up, taking in her striped, close-fitting top, the velvet trousers over her shapeliness, up and up, to take in her face, her hair, her lips. Cheeks burning, she almost felt his piercing regard.

She wished she could see him, read his expression, judge his character by the look in his eyes, but the shadows still swallowed him from his shoulders upwards.

‘I belong…’

It was almost as though he couldn’t finish the sentence. His tone had changed. The words had come in a hoarse whisper.

There was a shuffling sound from behind her, and she wondered whether the others were moving nearer to protect her or withdrawing into the interior. Music from the living room told her that the guests had decided the stranger was either an acquaintance or harmless. She had half turned to see how many were left outside when another sound had her turning back.

The stranger was bending with obvious difficulty to retrieve his backpack, swinging it into position. The effort must have cost him dear, since he dropped it, following it down and crumpling to the ground. As he fell his head thumped against the tree trunk, and he lay motionless, scarcely breathing, at Lauren’s feet

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_319e7361-1bef-5304-b409-55c84c444b77)

‘NO!’ LAUREN heard her own voice cry out. She dropped to his side and felt the dampness of his forehead beneath her trembling palm.

So it had been illness, not fear which had made him dab at his brow. With features such as his, how could she have thought this man lacked courage? But then, in the darkness she had not seen the strong lines in his face, hinting at an inbuilt resolve; the full, sensual mouth that suggested powerful feelings; the jaw telling of an ability to curb those feelings, keep them under control.

A lock of damp hair hung over his forehead and Lauren watched her quivering fingers push it aside. I’ve seen this man before…The words hit her like a lightning-strike, flashing in then out of her mind. It was a stupid thought. She had never seen him in her life before.

Hand to his cheek, she realised how shallow his breathing had become, which meant that positive action had become imperative. He needed medical attention. But most of all—and never mind that he was a complete stranger and had been concealing himself in the shadows—at that moment he needed a bed.

‘Johnny, Marty…’ She dredged up the names of some of the guests, but the music drowned her words. ‘Help me—I need help…’

Desperately she turned her head, seeing one figure lingering outside. She might as well, she thought, make use of the dog-like devotion the young man had been displaying towards her all evening.

‘Casey!’ she yelled. ‘Casey! Help me.’ To her relief he moved towards her. ‘Help me lift this man—get him inside.’

Casey, nearer now, took one look then dashed back, shouting, ‘Johnny!’ and gesturing wildly. Johnny came, following Casey across the patio, thudding over the lawn and pulling up smartly at the sight of the recumbent figure.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Johnny panted, hands on hips. ‘Is he dead?’

‘He fainted—can’t you see?’ Casey rebuked him, his slightly cloying manner vanished. ‘Now, how can we do this?’

Casey Talbert sober, Lauren decided, was a great improvement on Casey Talbert intoxicated.

‘You take his feet, Johnny,’ Casey directed, ‘while I carry him like this.’ He fitted his hands beneath the stranger’s armpits and prepared to lift him, but found himself holding a twisting torso.

‘For God’s sake—’ the words came hoarsely from the man ‘—I can walk.’

Shaking his head, as if to get his brain working again, and with a massive effort, the stranger got himself to his feet, swaying as he struggled to stay upright. Impulsively Lauren flung her arms around his waist, taking his weight with her own body. She staggered back, and felt him try to help her by easing himself away, but she managed to hold him more firmly.

‘Come on, Lauren,’ Casey urged. ‘Let me walk him into the house. If that’s—?’

Lauren nodded vigorously. ‘Where else? In this state he’ll not make it to his car. If he’s got a car.’ All the same, her arms still clung, seemingly strangely reluctant to let him go.

‘OK, Lauren,’ said Johnny, ‘let us take over.’

Slowly Lauren detached herself from the stranger, feeling a curious emptiness inside her as her body lost contact with his. She tried lifting his backpack, but found it so heavy she had to drag it over the lawn.

The man did his best to co-operate as they walked him, his legs lifting heavily with each step, but his head stayed determinedly upright, although Lauren guessed its natural inclination must be to hang.

‘Through the kitchen,’ Lauren directed, but the two men were making for the easiest way in, which was through the open doorway into the living room.

Someone turned down the music, and guests pulled aside to make a passage through. Eyes stared, hands holding glasses stilled on their way to open mouths.

Casey and Johnny made for the stairs, Casey calling over his shoulder, ‘OK, folks. Party’s over. No one to see off. Marie and Reggie have gone. Thanks on their behalf for coming.’

As the three men slowly mounted the stairs, the stranger’s feet dragging just a little, the music was switched off, shouts of farewell rang out and car doors slammed.

‘Thanks, Lauren.’ A girl reached Lauren’s side on the wide stairs, helping her bump the backpack upwards. ‘You did a great stand-in job on our absent hostess’s behalf.’ She added after a pause, ‘You’re doing a fine Samaritan act too—more than I’d do for a total stranger skulking in the shadows. Good luck. I’ve a feeling you’ll need it. We’re all going home.’

She ran downstairs and the door slammed behind her.

Lauren was thankful that the house possessed so many bedrooms—two or three of which, she had noticed during her inspection of the place, were already made up for possible guests. Friends, no doubt, of Marie’s.

At Lauren’s request Casey and Johnny had taken the man to the room next to hers. They’d removed his outer clothing, leaving his jeans in place, his shirt unbuttoned.

Lauren lifted the cover over him, noticing that the strong, lean body appeared to be deeply tanned.

‘He couldn’t have got that toasted from the sun in this country,’ Johnny commented quietly. ‘Must have been in the tropics for some while, I’d guess.’

‘So what brought him here?’ Casey said, voice low. ‘Homing instinct?’

‘Homing?’ Lauren exclaimed. ‘He doesn’t live here. No connection with the place—otherwise Marie would have told me.’ Then she remembered the man’s muttered half-sentence—‘I belong…’

He must have meant this country, she decided, recalling that the few words he had spoken had told her that his accent seemed to be British in origin. If he had indeed been roaming the world for a while, he would refer to his connection with his native country as ‘belonging’ to it, wouldn’t he?

‘Johnny!’ yelled a girl’s voice from below. ‘Come and drive us home like you promised.’