Wild Melody (20 page)

might have on someone like Mitch when she had embarked on this crusade

for publicity.

Trying to sound casual, she said, 'Have you popped in here for some peace?

I don't blame you. There's a chair over there, between the filing cabinets.'

She removed her work from the machine, and began to check it through,

studiously avoiding looking at Mitch, but a flicker of movement told her

that Mitch had taken the chair she had pointed out. For a while there was

silence, but eventually Catriona had to go to the stationery cupboard to get a

fresh box of envelopes. Mitch was sitting, staring at the floor, her hands

loosely clasped round her knees. The guitar was standing on the floor beside

her, resting against one of the cabinets.

Catriona paused. 'That's a genuine Spanish guitar, isn't it?' she asked, trying

to sound friendly without being pushing. She waited and was rewarded with

the slightest affirmative movement of Mitch's head.

'I have a guitar too, but it's nothing like as good as that one,' she said, after a

pause. 'Could I—could I have a look at yours?'

It was almost like standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for the puff of

wind that could send you to destruction. She remembered that Mitch had

been driven to violence once already over this very guitar. She was only the

office typist, for heaven's sake. Why was she trying to play psychologist to

this girl who could well be seriously disturbed? She waited uneasily,

expecting Mitch to snatch the guitar up and nurse it against her in the usual

way. For a moment Mitch's hand went out, half protectively, then she

withdrew it again.

Catriona took
a
deep breath. 'May I look at it?'

A long, long pause. Then that barely discernible nod again. Catriona felt as

if she was tiptoeing on eggshells as she walked across to the guitar and

picked it up. Mitch went on staring at the floor, as if she was totally

oblivious to what was going on. Catriona tried a tentative chord and winced.

'It's very out of tune,' she said. 'You ought to tune it, Mitch. It's a shame to

leave it in this state—a lovely thing like this. Do you know how to tune it?'

She looked down at Mitch and found the other girl's eyes fixed on her with a

strange intensity, but she did not move or make any sign. Catriona tried

again. 'Shall I time it for you?'

She made a few swift adjustments. 'Now listen.' Once again her fingers

touched the strings, and this time they sang for her. She stilled them and put

the guitar back on the floor beside Mitch.

'We're going to have a bit of a
ceilidh
here one night,' she said. 'Why don't

you come and bring your guitar? We'd love to hear you play it.'

'No.' It was a ragged breath of sound. Mitch picked up the guitar and lifted

herself from the chair in one panic- stricken movement. She flew to the

door, only to find her way blocked.

'I beg your pardon,' Jason's voice was courteous, as he stood aside to let her

pass. He watched her flying figure disappear up the stairs and tinned back to

Catriona, his brows lifted inquiringly.

'I'm looking for Mr Milner,' he said.

Catriona swallowed. 'I—I'll go and find him for you.'

'Thank you.' He took off his leather coat and hung it on the back of a chair,

before wandering across to the window and standing looking out, with his

back turned to her. They could have been strangers, she thought

incredulously. For a dreadful moment, she thought she might burst into

tears, then she managed to control herself and jutted her chin. If that was the

way he wanted it, then that was fine with her.

She found Andrew, looking hunted, in the kitchen and told him the

programme producer was waiting in the office, before helping Jean serve

the remaining coffees and explain what was happening to the residents who

were around.

Mrs Lamb was inclined to be belligerent. 'Well, no one asked us if we

wanted it,' she said. 'I'm not going to be treated like an animal in a zoo, thank

you very much.'

Calming ruffled sensibilities and soothing apprehensions took some time,

and when Catriona eventually went reluctantly back to the office, Jason had

gone. But her feeling of relief was short-lived. Andrew informed her that

there was to be a script conference that afternoon, and that Jason had asked

if the centre would provide secretarial back-up, as his own girl was off sick.

'I told him I was sure it would be all right,' Andrew said, a belatedly dubious

note creeping into his voice. 'Do you think you can cope, Catriona? He

seems a pretty high- powered operator.'

Catriona sighed. 'I haven't much choice, have I?' she said tautly.

She felt icy with nerves as they all gathered round one of the tables in the

office that afternoon, but the anticipation proved worse than the event.

Jason briefly outlined the format of the filming he proposed, and asked

Andrew if there were any additions or criticism he wanted to make. The

emphasis was to be on the residents, and the role the centre was playing in

their lives at a time of personal crisis. It was a far cry from the tribute to the

late Mr Henderson that his widow had envisaged, Catriona thought,

masking her amusement.

'Coupled with this will, of course, be the crisis in the centre's own affairs.'

Jason stared down at the pencil he was holding.

'I wouldn't put it quite as strongly as that,' Andrew said rather stiffly.

'Oh?' Jason raised his brows. 'And how precisely would you put it? You see,

Mr Milner, we've been doing some homework. We've spoken to some of the

trustees, apart from Alice Henderson, and also to some of the local council

officials. Their views coincide. They feel the centre's days could be

numbered, unless the situation alters radically and soon.'

Catriona stared down at her notebook and the neat shorthand symbols swam

meaninglessly in front of her eyes. She felt like Judas. What had she told

him so recklessly that night? That the end justified the means. She was no

longer sure of that.

'There is a problem with cash,' Andrew admitted quietly.

'I think it's more than a problem, Mr Milner,' Jason said almost gently.

'From what I've been told, the Trust is almost broke. I've also been told that

a rescue operation to attract more money could have started a long time ago,

but for the—intransigent attitude of Mrs Henderson herself. Am I correct?'

He paused, but Andrew made no reply. 'It seems that I am.'

Andrew gave him a steady look. 'I suppose this explains the sudden interest

of the media in our affairs—like vultures in at the death.'

Jason eyed him ironically. 'What do you expect, Mr Milner? This place and

the work you do here isn't exactly unique, you know. We could have put the

spotlight on a dozen such places—but we chose you. Did you never ask

yourself why? You know the situation better than anyone. Perhaps it's time

you faced up to it realistically.'

He looked down at the notepad in front of him. 'Of course, it's still not too

late. If you want us to go . .

Catriona sent Andrew a stricken look. He might not like the angle that the

programme was going to take, but it might be their last and only opportunity

to arouse public interest in their plight. If Andrew turned it down, she could

see no hope for the centre or the people who depended on it.

Andrew shook his head slowly. 'I don't think the choice is mine,' he said.

'We need any help we can get, whether there are strings attached or not, and

we'll grant you—every facility.'

'Thanks.' Jason's tone was noncommittal. 'Well, we'd better make a start.'

Catriona felt physically and mentally exhausted as she pulled the last sheets

out of the typewriter two hours later. The conference had made demands on

her capabilities, and no concessions had been made for her lack of

experience. But she had struggled on doggedly, pride refusing to allow her

to admit that she was having difficulties under Jason's mocking gaze. She

had a strong feeling that the speed at which the discussion had been taken,

interspersed with the instructions that had been almost carelessly flung at

her, had been intended to show how inadequate she was, but this had made

her all the more determined not to ask him to slow down, or repeat anything.

'Finished?' His hand came over her shoulder, reaching for the papers, and

she started violently. She had not heard him enter the office. She was

disturbed by his sudden proximity as he stood behind her chair, reading

through the notes, and she made herself draw away, moving her chair

slightly, so that there was no tantalising physical contact between them. She

glanced up at him involuntarily as she did so, and saw by the slight twist of

his mouth that the movement had not gone unnoticed.

'Very neat,' he said briefly, tossing the sheets back on the desk. 'I'll take the

top copy with me tonight, and you can give a carbon to Lucas, if you will.'

'Of course,' she said colourlessly, wishing that she could adopt the same

impersonality towards him.

'Right,' he glanced at his watch. 'I have a few letters, when you're ready.'

He began dictating almost before Catriona had time to open her pad and

reach for her pencil. It was more like an endurance test than dictation, she

thought furiously.

'I'd like those to go tonight,' he said casually when he had finished. 'They

shouldn't take you long.'

Catriona stole a surreptitious glance at her own watch and saw resignedly

that it was past the time she should have left for home. She stifled a sigh as

she assembled papers and carbons.

'I'm not keeping you, am I?' His voice was bland. 'But your—er—boss did

promise me every facility and . .

'It's all right,' she interrupted flatly, winding the paper into the machine. She

forced herself to concentrate on the task in hand, willing herself to ignore

the fact that Jason had drawn up a chair, and had put his feet up on the edge

of her table. But the knowledge of his scrutiny made her flying fingers

stumble, and she flushed with annoyance and embarrassment as she was

forced to take a fresh sheet.

'Would you mind not watching me?' she appealed at last.

'I'm sorry.' He raised his eyebrows. 'Diane isn't quite so sensitive. She's used

to me breathing down her neck.'

Catriona remained silent. Was that meant to imply, she wondered bitterly,

that Diane had been on equally intimate terms with him and yet was able to

transfer their relationship to a purely business footing in the office? If so, it

required a degree of sophistication that she simply did not possess. She was

tormented by her constant awareness of his masculinity.

'I'll seek out Jean and see if I can raise some coffee.' He got to his feet,

stretching. 'Would you like some?'

Perversely ignoring the cravings of her empty stomach, she shook her head.

'I see. I'm to get out and keep out.' His voice mocked, then paused as if

awaiting her retaliation, but she made no reply and after a moment she heard

the office door close behind him.

By the time his letters were completed and ready for his signature, he still

had not returned and Catriona was forced to go in search of him. She

eventually ran him to earth in the kitchen, sitting at the big central table and

chatting to Jean and some of the women residents, Mrs Lamb among them.

Judging by the rapt look on Mrs Lamb's face and the way she seemed to be

hanging on his every word, Catriona surmised that all her earlier feelings

about being an animal in a zoo had been forgotten, and she was not

altogether surprised when Mrs Lamb excitedly revealed that she and her

family were to be the subject of one of the in-depth interviews that Jason had

planned for the programme. Catriona saw Jean smile and wink and smiled, a

little resignedly, in response. It was inevitable that Jason would win, she

thought. She should be glad that his victory had not included herself.

He accompanied her back to the office and she waited quietly while he

checked the letters and added his bold, uncompromising signature to them.

'I've made you late,' he said abruptly. 'Can I give you a lift?'

'No, thank you.' She was glad she was folding the letters and putting them

into their envelopes. It gave her an excuse to keep her face averted.

'You'll be quite safe,' Jason jeered. 'I rarely rape women while I'm driving.

London traffic doesn't permit it, for one thing.'

She flushed unhappily and ventured a glance at him. 'Please don't be funny.'

'Is that what I am?' he said. 'I'll take your word for it, though I'm sure as hell

not laughing.'

He reached out suddenly and took her arm, bruising her flesh under the hard

pressure of his fingers. 'Catriona.'

She was frightened—frightened of the suppressed violence she could hear