One Reckless Night

‘Jones,’ he supplied cordially. ‘As in Alias Smith and...’

Zanna bit her lip hard. That was not the name he’d given previously, she thought thunderously, but it seemed wiser, under the circumstances, to ignore it rather than call the matter into question.

‘But I suggest you lay off the human psychology,’ she went on, raising her voice a semitone. ‘At that you’re a total amateur.’

‘As I imagine you are yourself, Susie. At least at the things that matter.’ He gave her an edged grin. ‘Now let’s go and get some drinks.’

‘No, thanks,’ Zanna refused curtly. ‘I think I’d rather go back to the Black Bull.’

He had the audacity to laugh. ‘Don’t sulk.’ And, as her lips parted in furious negation, he added, ‘And don’t fib either. Just think of what Reverend Mother would have said.’

‘How did you know I went to a convent?’ she demanded suspiciously.

His smile widened. ‘Call it a lucky guess.’ He paused. ‘Besides, if you run away now you could miss out on a guided tour of Church House. Isn’t that worth enduring my company for a little while longer?’

He took her hand in his and led her round the edge of the floor to a room at the rear of the hall where the bar had been set up.

Bill Sharman was burly, with a beard and an infectious laugh.

‘Now then, Jake,’ he said jovially, giving Zanna an appraising look. ‘What can I get you both?’

‘A cold beer, please.’ Jake turned a questioning eye on Zanna. ‘The same for you, Susie?’

‘I don’t drink beer.’ Nor did it seem politic to drink any more alcohol when she needed to keep her wits about her. Glancing round, she spotted with relief several large glass bowls, filled with some innocuous-looking ruby liquid and awash with sliced apples, pears and oranges, standing on a side-table. ‘But I’ll try the fruit cup,’ she added, ladling some into a glass.

‘A good choice,’ Bill Sharman said cheerfully. ‘Trudy’s special brew. No dance here would be complete without it.’ He paused. ‘My wife tells me you’re spending the night with us.’

‘Yes, it wasn’t exactly a planned visit, but my car broke down and it’s taking Jake longer to fix it than I’d hoped.’

There was an odd silence, then Bill said, ‘Ah, you’ll be old friends, then?’

To her surprise, she found herself flushing. ‘Not really. I...’

‘Actually, we only met this afternoon when she walked into the garage.’ Jake broke smoothly into her flustered words. ‘And as she was at a loose end tonight I invited her here.’

‘Splendid,’ Bill approved, almost too heartily. ‘Great stuff. Have a wonderful evening.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled back at him. ‘And the fruit cup is delicious.’

It was, too, the flavours of the fruit mingling coolly and fragrantly with a hint of spice. Cinnamon? she wondered as she sipped again. And nutmeg, perhaps? It was difficult to tell, she decided, downing some more in the interests of scientific research.

Jake took the glass from her hand and placed it with his own on a convenient window-ledge.

‘Come and dance,’ he invited softly.

This time it was a slow foxtrot, and Zanna was astonished to find how quickly she picked up the steps. She was almost sorry when the tempo changed completely to a rollicking Gay Gordons, a progressive version, where she found herself being whirled round by a succession of different partners, leaving her laughing and breathless as the music ended with a triumphant flourish.

She looked instinctively to see where Jake was and saw him standing at the side of the dance floor, talking to a pretty redhead who was openly and unashamedly devouring him with her eyes.

Which was fine by her, thought Zanna, swallowing the remains of her fruit cup and starting back to the bar in search of a refill. Of course it was. Jake belonged to Emplesham, after all. He had a life here which would continue long after she was gone and forgotten.

A strange pang of something like regret assailed her at this thought, and was instantly suppressed.

Because she had a life too. A very different life from those led in this backwater, she told herself robustly. A life where she was needed—where she mattered.

She pinned on a resolute smile for Bill Sharman. ‘Dancing’s thirsty work,’ she said, plying the ladle.

‘Always was,’ he agreed, raising one eyebrow. ‘Take it easy if you’re not used to it.’

‘I’m fine,’ she returned airily. ‘Having the time of my life.’

Which, somehow, did not include watching Jake being eaten alive by pretty girls with red hair. An unwelcome realisation if ever there was one.

Dismissing it, she held out some money for her drink, but Bill shook his head.

‘That’s our contribution to the festivities—Trudy’s and mine. There’s no charge.’

They’d opened one of the side-doors, and she stepped through it and out into the cool darkness, fresh with the scent of newly mown grass. She stood, sipping her drink and looking up at the sky.

The new moon was still there, a pale silver crescent above the trees. The breeze lifted her loosened hair, brushing it against her cheek, the nape of her neck, like a caressing hand.

She moved uneasily, aware that she was shivering—not with cold but with a strange, unfathomable excitement.

You could wish on the moon, she thought hazily, remembering the old childish superstition. And if you turned a piece of silver over in your hand and bowed three times your wish would come true. But she had nothing to wish for.

And she knew, even as the thought took shape in her mind, that she was lying to herself.

She recognized with sudden, shocking clarity exactly what she would wish for—if only she dared...

She thought, I want this night never to end. I want to go on being Susie. I want...

And she stopped there, her mind closing against the unspoken, unutterable plea. All the breath seemed to leave her body in one gigantic, soundless gasp. She could feel the coins clenched in her hand, biting into her flesh.

The temptation to turn them over, to obey the ritual and accept whatever fate decreed would follow, was almost overwhelming.

Almost—but not quite. From some corner of her mind a remnant of sanity intervened to save her, reminding her precisely who she was and what, in fact, he was.

A total stranger, she thought stonily, gulping the sweetness and the pain of the night back into her starved lungs. A stranger, moreover, light years removed from her in background and aspiration. Someone she wouldn’t have given a second glance to in her busy London existence. Someone she’d been unwise to allow anywhere near her. Someone already well aware of the effect he had on women, as his redheaded admirer could probably attest.

She gave the moon one last look. You pathetic fool, she told herself savagely, and she turned to go back into the hall.

Only to yelp in fright as she cannoned into a tall figure standing behind her.

He steadied her without particular gentleness. ‘This is getting to be a habit. What the hell are you doing out here?’

‘Moongazing,’ she said. Her voice sounded odd, as though it didn’t belong to her. ‘I—I needed some fresh air.’

‘Trudy’s punch tends to have that effect,’ he said grimly. ‘Bill told me you’d been back for seconds.’ He took the empty glass from her hand and shook his head. ‘This stuff should carry a government health warning. Not to mention all the other things you drank during dinner.’