Stranger Passing By

Having secured it, he realised that, with the other hand holding a savoury, he had no hand free with which to pick up the glass that perched precariously on the stone base.

It took Crystal a mere second to react, seizing the glass by its stem just before it toppled. Taking the bottle, she poured him a generous supply. This he gratefully accepted, raising the glass in a salute and drinking deeply, his eyes reflectively on her as he imbibed.

Then they narrowed and she heard him ask, ‘Who taught you to anticipate a man’s needs so promptly and so skilfully?’ The wine bottle was almost empty now.

‘Instinct, intuition. Maybe my genes?’

A smile flirted with his expressive mouth at her playful reply.

‘I,’ he straightened, hands in pockets, ‘would put my money on a demanding boyfriend.’

‘Then, Mr Akerman, you’d be throwing your money away.’ She didn’t want to talk about Mick. It hurt even now, just thinking about him.

A reflective pause, then ‘So keep off. I can hear it in your voice. OK, I won’t trespass on private grief.’

‘No, no, it’s not like that!’ And strangely, incredibly, it wasn’t. Out of the blue, she discovered that she just didn’t care any more about Mick Temple and the heartless way he’d thrown her over for another girl.

‘So tell me, then,’ he asked, ignoring her outburst, ‘who taught you to be so belligerent and bellicose?’

Crystal’s mouth fell open. ‘You can’t be talking about me?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Carefully he recorked the empty bottle. ‘Who jumped to her feet this evening at every opportunity and challenged the platform?’

‘Who—?’ How could she tell him she had been as surprised as he was? ‘Oh. I’m—er—sorry about that.’ A pause, then, tossing her head, ‘No, I’m not. What I said came from the heart.’

‘Crys—tal? Hey, Crystal! So this is where you’ve got to.’ Roger came round a corner and stopped dead, looking from one to the other, frowning uncomfortably. ‘Sorry to butt in, but Crystal, I—er—we missed you. Thought you might have gone home without telling us.’ With an apologetic lift of the hand, he made to leave, but checked himself. ‘About that other matter, Crystal—could I call you, reference what we discussed?’

‘Why not? Any time.’

Roger seemed pleased, and Crystal hoped he had not read more into her invitation than her agreement to do some office work for him.

‘You’d better go, Miss Rose,’ came the dry remark, Brent Akerman having plainly made his own—wrong—interpretation. ‘Betts is missing you.’

Brent Akerman, the chief executive of the group known as Worldview International, actually remembered Roger’s surname?

‘The others, too,’ he waved his hand vaguely, ‘are missing their leader, their spokesman.’ He folded his arms and leaned against the plinth, smiling mockingly. ‘Oh, dear. Womankind will be after my—’ an eyebrow darted upward ‘—be after me. I’d better feminise that word fast—spokeswoman. And,’ his head went back to rest on the statue’s hard bare thighs, ‘do let the management know, won’t you, if there’s going to be a strike, or a sit-in? Or even a march in the town. You must inform the police about that, did you know? The management would hate to see the lovely Crystal Rose thrown into gaol through ignorance of the law.’

Annoyed by his cynicism, she was about to retaliate when she saw that his eyes had closed. ‘Mr Akerman,’ she whispered.

‘Yes?’ without lifting his head.

‘Shouldn’t you go home? I’m sure your wife will be anxious. Could I—shall I use the hotel phone and tell her you’ll soon be on your way?’

‘Call my place, by all means,’ came from him harshly, ‘but there’ll be no answer. I have no wife, no clinging little woman waiting for me.’ The bitterness was almost tangible.

‘No one there?’ Crystal asked, astonished that such a man, such a masculine man, had no woman in his life.

‘No one,’ he repeated, eyes still closed. ‘I had my fill long ago of the “two hearts that beat as one” myth, of “devotion”, and declarations of life-long love. There’s a heart where a man’s heart usually is, Miss Rose, but mine is ice right through.’

‘It sounds,’ Crystal offered into the taut silence, her own spirits unaccountably having taken a dive, ‘as if you’ve been hurt very badly.’

‘Does it?’ he responded indifferently.

Eyes fluttering open, he pulled himself upright, swaying just a little. Crystal’s hand on his arm steadied him and he looked down at it as if wondering how it had got there.

‘I think, Mr Akerman,’ she offered gently, ‘that you might be just a little bit—intoxicated.’

‘Think again, Miss Rose. The wine bottle was half full when I accepted it at the bar counter. One of the residents said he didn’t want it and kindly offered it to me.’

‘But you drank most of it on an empty stomach.’

‘True. So?’ The faint shrug and the light in his eyes convinced Crystal that most of his faculties were alive and well, if not entirely under his command. Then he swayed again. He swore under his breath and commented, ‘I’m tired, Miss Rose, deadly tired.’

Crystal, hoping to humour him, tried reassurance. ‘Jet lag probably, Mr Akerman.’

‘Plus three late nights—or should I say early mornings?—in a row.’

‘Are you going to drive yourself home?’

‘Nope. I came here by taxi straight from the airport. If you’d call another for me, Miss Rose, I’ll be eternally grateful.’ His head was back against the statue, eyes closed again.

‘Taxi, love?’ the barman said. ‘This time of night they’re almost impossible to get hereabouts.’ He indicated the wall telephone. ‘But you’re welcome to try.’

Someone was using the phone, which would mean a wait. So...she would take him home, in the car she had borrowed for the evening. Returning, she found him as she had left him, leaning, as still as the statue he rested against. Was he asleep on his feet?

‘Mr Akerman,’ her hand resumed its perch on his arm, ‘this is the way outside. Will you come with me?’

With his eyes still closed he said softly, ‘To the end of the rainbow, Miss Rose.’

His eyes opened and he looked straight into hers. It was like a bright light being switched on after intense darkness, and she found herself wanting to shield her own.

His gaze for once held no mockery, no warmth, yet no coldness either, but there was definitely a hint of something that sent tingles racing up and down her spine. Then his glance slanted down again at her hand. Maybe it was a presumptuous gesture, in view of who he was, but she had to get him outside somehow.

She had discovered a rear entrance that led on to the car park. Helping him into the front passenger-seat of the small car, she heard him mumble an address. Let him think it was a taxi driver he was addressing. He was too far gone, anyway, she reflected, pulling out into the road, to care whether his conveyance was a cab or a private car. She had caught enough of the address to let her know in which direction to point the car.

Rumour had it that he lived only a few miles from her own home town, so she drove in the general direction of the countryside but, dark as it was, with winding roads and hedges looming each side, and without his wide-awake directions, she felt as bemused as if she were lost in a maze.

Pulling in beside a farm gate, she called his name. He didn’t stir.

‘Mr Akerman!’ louder this time, but she received the same response. Her hand once again found its way to his arm and she repeated his name, panicking just a little now. Her fingers walked down to his wrist, pressing the back of it. His hand turned over and captured hers.

‘No, no!’ she exclaimed, trying to shake free. ‘Just tell me where you live, Mr Akerman. I need directions. Please, Mr Akerman.’

A long sigh issued from his lungs and he lifted her hand to his cheek. Oh, no, she thought, who does he think I am? His lady-love? There just has to be a woman in this man’s life! She tried sliding her hand free, to no avail, so she changed tactics and jerked it away, hoping to wake him up. Her hand was relinquished, but to her dismay he settled into an even deeper sleep.

With a sigh of exasperation she turned the car and made for the town, pulling up at the rear of her little house, thrusting down her foot and braking sharply, but in vain. He stayed profoundly asleep.

CHAPTER THREE