Fugitive Wife (5 page)

‘Would you like something to folow?’ asked Logan.

‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’ She leaned back with a little sigh of satisfaction. ‘Some coffee, maybe, that’s al. I don’t want to get fat.’

‘I don’t think there’s much danger of that.’ His cool gaze wandered over her, lingering deliberately on her slender waist and the flatness of her stomach. ‘A few pounds wouldn’t hurt you.’

She laughed, finishing off the, wine left in her glass.

‘This must be my day for being put down! I hoped you’d say I was perfect as I was.’

‘But perfection doesn’t appeal to me.’ he said. ‘A few failings add humanity.’ He signaled to the waitress and ordered the coffee, while Briony sat beside him in silence, her thoughts whirling. Once the coffee was drunk, then this al too brief lunch would be over, and how was she ever going to see him again? She couldn’t hang about outside the U.P.G. offices every day on the offchance of meeting him. And this meal hadn’t gone quite as she’d hoped. Last night he had made no secret of her attraction for him, Today he had teased her a little, but his manner had generaly been wary, even a little aloof at times.

There had been moments when his mouth had looked almost grim, and it was difficult to remember how it had felt when it had touched

hers. Al that she knew was that she longed for him to remind her what it had been like.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

‘Where did you work before you joined the Courier?’

‘I was on a provincial daily in the North, doing mostly investigative work. But I’d always wanted to work abroad and when I heard there was a vacancy on the Courier’s foreign news department, I applied for it.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity, or do you want the story of my life? It isn’t very interesting.’

‘Wel, it can’t possibly be as dul as mine,’ she said rather ruefuly. ‘And of course it interests me. I’d hardly .. .’ She paused.

‘You’d hardly be here with me now, if you weren’t interested.’ he finished for her.

She hunched a shoulder. ‘If you don’t want to tel me—’ she began, but he cut across her impatiently.

‘It isn’t that, Briony. I’l tel you anything you want to know, but I must admit you puzzle me.’

‘Do I?’ She sent him a dazzling smile. ‘Wel, that’s a good start.’

‘I wasn’t aware that we were starting anything!’ He paused to pay the waitress as she brought their coffee and the bil. When she had gone, he said quietly, ‘Now let’s have the truth just why are you here―and please don’t feed me any more nonsense about having heard rave reports of the food.’

She said blandly, ‘I saw you coming in here, and I didn’t want to have lunch alone. Satisfied?’

‘Not entirely. I could name at random at least half a dozen young executives that you met last night who would give a large proportion of their handsome salaries to take you somewhere fashionable to eat for a couple of hours. Why me?’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps none of them forced them selves on my attention in quite the same way, Mr. Adair.’

‘So you decided to employ the same tactics? ’That reflective, considering look was back.

‘Why not? Last night I got the impression you found me attractive. If I’m wrong, you can always claim this lunch back off your expenses.’

‘Attractive isn’t quite the appropriate word.’ he said slowly. ‘I find you both desirable and exasperating-not always in equal or even the same proportions.’ ‘How very odd.’ Briony said sweetly. ‘I find you exactly the same. But you were going to tel me about your early life.’

‘Yes, I was, wasn’t I?’ he said pleasantly. ‘It’s perfectly simple. I’m thirty-four. Unmarried and my parents are both dead. I was educated at a grammar school, and from there I went on to Oxford where I read politics. philosophy and economics. I came into journalism as a graduate entrant. which isn’t a bad way to start. In my time. I’ve covered every type of story from funerals and flower shows to murder hunts and corruption. Is that what you wanted to know?’

‘You know it wasn’t.’ she said in a low voice, and for a moment there was silence between them. When she looked up at him again she

was smiling, and her eyes under the deep sweep of lashes were deliberately provocative, ‘Your past wasn’t very productive,’ she

murmured.

‘Perhaps I’l have better luck with your future.’ She reached out and took his hand, turning it palm upwards for her inspection. ‘Hmm,’ She bent over it, pretending absorption, one pink-tipped finger tracing the various lines on his hand as she spoke. ‘A strong headline. but then I’d expect that. A long lifeline, and quite steady too, except for your middle years which could hold some danger for you . . .’

‘Never more than at this moment. I suspect.’ His tone was dry. ‘Briony, what are you trying to do.’

‘Tel your fortune.’ she said with mock innocence. ‘Now your heart-line is realy fascinating. I would say you could get any woman you wanted, merely by asking.’

‘Now that is fascinating.’ he said gravely. ‘Your coffee’s getting cold.’

‘You don’t think I know what I’m talking about.’ she accused.

‘I think I know exactly what you’re talking about.’ he said. ‘And it has nothing to do with palmistry. Tel me something Briony. When we leave here; what are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?’

Her heart suddenly seemed to miss a beat at the question.

‘1-1 don’t have anything planned.’

‘No?’ His hand closed round hers, opening it palm upwards.

‘Now it’s my turn and I’l tel you what I see. I see the heart-line dominating the head. I see a mixed-up girl who doesn’t know what she wants. I see a dangerous craving for excitement in the lifeline, but this evens out before too long into steadiness and security and a suitable marriage.’

Briony snatched her hand away. ‘But that isn’t what I want.’ she said unevenly. ‘And you know it. What―what are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?’ She died al kinds of smal deaths while she waited for him to answer.

‘I think they could best be described as fluid,’ Logan said slowly at last. ‘But they certainly begin with more coffee― at my flat I think.

Shal we go and find a taxi?’

She had thought that he would kiss her in the taxi, but he didn’t, and she felt dashed by this; He hardly spoke either and his face was suddenly remote as if his thoughts had traveled a long way from her and she did not dare make any attempt to recal them. But by the time the taxi drew up in front of the smal block of flats where Logan lived, she was feeling thoroughly nervous and on edge.

He didn’t put his arm around her either as they went up the stairs to the first floor, and she felt oddly chiled as he fitted the key into the lock and admitted her to a smal cramped hal. There were a couple of letters lying just inside the door and he bent to retrieve them, slitting them open carelessly with his thumbnail and running his eye over the contents while she stood, waiting. He was being so casual, she thought, as though this happened al the time, as maybe it did with him, but not with her as he surely must realise.

She wasn’t just nervous any more either. She was definitely panicky, and suddenly and paralysingly shy at the thought of what she was doing. She had never dreamed she could behave in this way, but she’d thought that Logan would somehow make it easy for her. After al, it was last night’s kisses which had set off the chain reaction which had brought her to the flat today, she thought.

‘Do you live here alone?’ She tried to sound casual in her turn, but there was a tel-tale quiver in her voice, she realised with vexation.

‘I share with Tony Ericson, but he’s in Zambia at the moment,’ he returned laconicaly.

So although he might have a relationship with Karen Welesley, they weren’t actualy living together.

Briony experienced a spasm of relief at the realisation. She folowed Logan into the living room. It wasn’t large, and it was furnished in a spartan manner which suggested that its occupants spent little time there.

The main items of furniture were a rather battered sofa drawn up in front of the fireplace and a large office desk in the window, supporting a litter of papers and two sturdy portable typewriters.

‘Yes, I work here as wel as at the office.’ Logan deftly forestaled her next question. ‘The kitchen is through the door opposite.’ He pointed. ‘Perhaps you’d like to make that coffee I mentioned while I have a shower.’ She was glad to have something to do. Filing the kettle and setting it to boil, and finding mugs and the jar of coffee occupied her hands, but did nothing to ease the mounting uncertainty within her. And she had no one to blame but herself for the current situation, she told herself, her shaking hands spiling coffee granules on to the worktop as she attempted to spoon them into the mugs.

It was entirely of her own making. She’d folowed Logan and thrown herself at his head, and if she turned and ran now, she would only be making an even bigger fool of herself. Yet if she stayed… Briony’s imagination refused to consider the implications of the next hour or two.

She made the coffee and carried the mugs into the living room, but it was deserted. He was stil in the shower, and now, if ever, was the time to beat an ignoble retreat. She set the mugs down on the corner of the desk and looked round for her bag. She’d put it down on the sofa as she’d come in, but it wasn’t there. Nor was it on the desk, or on the floor, or on any of the shelves of the fitment which covered one wal, and housed books and a complicated-looking stereo player. It had vanished.

Or had she simply left it on the smal table in the hal, she wondered desperately. She opened the living room door and peered out, but the table was bare except for the discarded envelopes from Logan’s letters.

There was only one other explanation. Logan had taken her bag with him when he went off to have his shower, in order to prevent her from running out on him. The realisation set the match to her temper, relegating her fears and forebodings to a poor second. How dared he? she raged inwardly. She had taken several impetuous steps along the hal when one of the doors opened and Logan emerged, and the sight of him halted her dead in her tracks. He was wearing a damp towel hitched loosely round his hips, and his tawny hair was darkly streaked with water. His eyes, as they encountered Briony’s openly hostile gaze, were enigmatic.

He said smoothly, ‘Coming to meet me halfway, sweetheart?’

‘I was coming to find my handbag.’

He gestured towards the door opposite him. ‘It’s in there.’

After only a second’s hesitation, she turned and walked into the room he had indicated. She had guessed it was his bedroom and she was right. Her bag was there, lying in the middle of the bed-a double bed, she registered in silence. There was little other furniture. Like the living room, it suggested that its occupant was Someone constantly in transit, living out of suitcases, and there were few personal touches.

She picked her bag up from the bed, and turned. Logan was lounging in the doorway watching her, and she could read nothing from his

expression, but his presence there meant that her retreat was effectively cut off.

‘You didn’t bring the coffee.’ His tone was almost conversational. .

‘1―1 didn’t want any.’ Damn! she thought in vexation. Why hadn’t she said it was waiting in the living room, and thus made good her

escape?

‘Then I won’t bother either.’ he said affably, and walked forward. ‘After al, why waste time when we have more important things to do?’

She took a step backwards. ‘No.’ she got out. ‘I―I can’t!’

‘Can’t you?’ He didn’t hurry as he covered the distance between them. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t a large room, and she was standing with her back against one wal. There was simply nowhere else to retreat to.

‘You can.’ he said. ‘It’s easy―I’l show you.’

He detached the bag from her suddenly nerveless fingers and tossed it on to a nearby chest of drawers, folowing it with her suit jacket which he slipped expertly from her shoulders, almost before she realised what he was doing, and then he was unfastening her shirt-as casualy as if he was changing a dummy in a shop window, and with about as much feeling, she realised, a sense of hysteria rising deep within her. Her hands came up to push him away, her fingers fumbling as she sought to thrust the buttons he had undone back into their buttonholes.

‘What’s the matter?’ He made no attempt to stop her.He was even smiling faintly.

‘How dare you?’ she choked.

‘I wasn’t aware that daring entered into it,’ he said, his voice cool. ‘You made it quite clear what you wanted, and I’m more than wiling to provide it. So what’s the problem?’

‘The problem?’ She stared at him helplessly. ‘You’re behaving as if―treating me like .. .’

‘Like the spoiled brat you are?’ he cut across her stumbling words with merciless harshness. ‘What’s the matter, darling! Isn’t it al romantic enough for you? But what did you expect? It’s ladies who are being seduced who get the flowers and champagne treatment. Little girls who throw themselves at men merely get laid. It may not be the lesson you expected to be taught this afternoon, but I hope it wil prove a salutory one al the same. Now I suggest you get out of here before I forget you’re your father’s daughter and give you the beating you so richly deserve.’

For a minute she stared at him, then with a little inarticulate cry, she struck him across the face and ran past him out of the room and down the hal. She was struggling with the stiff catch on the front door when he caught her.

‘You forgot your handbag.’ His tone was soft and jeering. ‘And your jacket.’

‘Thank you.’ She snatched at them, her face crimson with humiliation, suppressed tears stinging her eyelids.

Logan swore under his breath. ‘Oh God, Briony!’ He turned her to face him. ‘You got off lightly.’ he told her harshly. ‘Just be thankful that I didn’t take advantage of you, and for God’s sake don’t go round offering yourself to any other man who happens to take your schoolgirl fancy unless you want to end up as yet another unpleasant statistic for the sociologists to mul over.’

‘Suddenly everyone feels they have a right to lecture me―to feel responsible for me.’ she said stonily. ‘Now please take your hands off me. I’d like to go home.’