Wild Melody

‘That's just the key of my cashbox,’ she said a little nervously.

‘Cashbox?’ he queried, with raised brows. ‘What cashbox?'

So perforce Catriona found herself telling him about Auntie Jessie and the sale of Muir House.

‘So when all was settled I had about two hundred pounds altogether. I spent some of it of course on my ticket and on a taxi today. But the rest is in a box in my rucksack,’ she added, noticing with alarm that he was frowning again.

‘You've been carrying all the money you possess in the world around London with you all morning!’ he said with ominous calm. ‘And supposing you'd been robbed? Dear God, girl, you're not safe to be allowed out!'

‘I can look after my money and myself,’ Catriona said indignantly.

‘Can you now?’ he said softly. ‘So much so that you blunder into a strange man's flat, make all kinds of demands and stay for breakfast without any thought of what you might have to give in return.'

‘I'm quite willing to pay you——’ she began, but he silenced her by placing an authoritative finger on her parted lips. An odd shiver ran through her. She had never been touched, she told herself, by anyone she loathed as much as him.

‘But supposing I asked for payment in kind rather than cash?’ His eyes held hers and she was aware that her breathing had quickened involuntarily.

‘I'd scream for Mrs Birch,’ she found herself saying with amazing calmness.

‘You assume she'd be on your side. Well, she probably would. She has a weakness for waifs and strays.’ With an insouciance that infuriated her, he let the key and ring drop back inside the neck of her shirt. They felt disturbingly warm from his fingers and again she felt that unaccountable shiver.

‘Well,’ he slid off the stool, ‘studio for me, and bed, I think, for you.'

‘Bed?’ Catriona gasped.

‘Of course. Don't tell me you got much sleep on that train last night.'

‘No—but I can't sleep here.'

‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘And don't start behaving like an hysterical virgin. I've already told you, I'm going to work. I'll get Mrs Birch to wake you around two-thirty and I'll be back at three to take you shopping.'

‘Shopping?'

‘Must you repeat everything I say?’ he said with studied patience.

‘But I don't need to go shopping.’ Catriona thought desperately of her small store of money. She could not go to Jeremy completely empty-handed.

‘Oh yes, you do. You need a party dress,’ he said coolly. Before she could argue, he was gone, and a moment later she heard the front door slam.

Catriona leant on the breakfast bar. Her head was throbbing, and she pressed her finger tips against her forehead with a little sigh. He was everything that was detestable, she thought, and he seemed to take a perverse delight in unnerving her. Only the thought that when evening came he would take her to Jeremy stopped her from grabbing up her things and running away as fast as she could.

‘Come along, lovey.’ Mrs Birch's voice was kind. ‘A nice lie down is what you want. You'll feel better in no time.'

Catriona found herself in a small bedroom furnished in muted browns and yellows with a thick continental quilt on the single bed. It was incredibly soft and warm and she felt an almost sensuous relaxation as she stretched out under it.

‘A good sleep,’ Mrs Birch was saying somewhere a long way off. ‘A good sleep.'

Catriona slept.

CHAPTER TWO (#ua907f8c6-5019-56a7-af15-6dbb522dab3a)

SHE was awoken by a hand on her shoulder. Mrs Birch in outdoor clothes was standing by the bed, holding a small tray.

‘Coffee, miss,’ she announced. ‘Mr Lord will be back soon. I'd be ready if I were you. He hates being kept waiting.'

Catriona was sorely tempted to proclaim her total indifference to Mr Lord's likes and dislikes, but she knew that under the circumstances, that would be churlish.

‘The bathroom's just across the hall, and I've put clean towels in there in case you want a shower,’ Mrs Birch went on. ‘Now if that's all, miss, I'll be getting along.'

‘Thank you. You've been very kind,’ Catriona said sincerely.

‘It's been a pleasure,’ Mrs Birch replied brightly. ‘I hope we meet again, miss. And if I might say so'—she lowered her voice confidentially—‘I wouldn't wear the jeans, miss. Not up West anyway. Fine for the Kings Road, but I don't suppose you'll be going there.’ And she was gone.

Catriona finished her coffee and slid out of bed. The unpopular jeans and her shirt were lying on the dressing stool and she picked them up, her face a little mutinous. All she had in her rucksack were two cotton dresses she had made last week, and some woollen sweaters. Tossing her dark hair determinedly from her face, she marched off to find the bathroom.

She was brushing her hair back into a ponytail and securing it with an elastic band when Jason Lord returned. She heard him come whistling down the hall and pause outside her door, and she squared her shoulders.

‘Are you ready, Miss Muir?’ he called.

‘Quite ready.’ She picked up her duffel coat and walked to the door. Somewhat to her surprise, he gave her a mocking grin as she emerged into the hall.

‘I like a girl who sticks to her principles,’ he commented as his eyes ran over her. ‘Come, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.'

Her blood boiling, she followed him to the front door and down the steps to the sleek cream-coloured car that awaited them. Jason Lord held the door open for her and she subsided a little awkwardly into the low tan leather seat on the passenger side. She stared entranced at the dashboard, wondering what the various buttons and dials could be for.

‘Do you drive?’ He slid into the seat beside her, and flicked the ignition expertly. The car started immediately, and they pulled away.

‘I had a few lessons, but I never took the test.'

‘A pity. It's an advantage, wherever you happen to live,’ he said.

‘Perhaps Jeremy will teach me.'

‘Perhaps he will,’ he returned noncommittally.

Catriona tried to make note of each turn they took, but she was soon bewildered. The streets were wider now, and the traffic was getting heavy. The houses were giving way to shops too, and as they drove along Catriona saw signs advertising more theatres and restaurants than she had ever dreamed existed.

‘I've never seen so many people,’ she remarked impulsively, then regretted sounding so naïve.

‘You should see it on Sundays. It's almost as quiet as Torvaig,’ he said. ‘And what's more, I've seen a vacant parking meter. Here we go.'

A few minutes later, Catriona found herself in a huge shop. Jason Lord's hand was under her elbow, urging her forward through the crowds thronging the counters, as she caught tantalising glimpses of exquisite displays of scarves and handbags and sniffed exotic odours as she was whisked through the cosmetics department.

‘Lift or escalator?’ he asked, then quickly, ‘I'm sorry, I'm treating you like a child. But you look so damned young in those jeans with your hair tied back.'

‘I know—like a waif,’ she retorted, already more than conscious that she seemed to be the only person in jeans in the whole massive building. ‘And I've never been on an escalator.'

‘Up we go, then.’ He steadied her on to the moving staircase. ‘Hold on to me if you like.'