An Enigmatic Man. Carole Mortimer
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should.’
She didn’t seem able to win where this man was concerned! ‘I read a lot. Agatha Christie, mostly.’ She answered the question defensively before he could even ask it.
He relaxed back in his chair, watching her with dark, unfathomable eyes. ‘Then this must seem like the perfect setting for a murder to you,’ he accepted. ‘A derelict, apparently empty castle. Guarded by a fierce hound. Inhabited by a darkly unwelcoming man.’
On the surface, all of that was true, and it was what she had initially thought. But in this warmly comfortable setting, with a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, this man no longer seemed quite so formidable. She’d already deduced by his voice that he was a well-educated man, and the removal of that bulky black jumper had revealed that he wore clothes Crys was pretty sure carried exclusive labels.
As for the dog… Well, for the moment he was safely outside.
And the castle itself… Crys was sure this man’s earlier answer, concerning the obvious dereliction outside, so in contrast to its comfortable interior, had been deliberately over-simplified—had merely been an avoidance of the true answer.
This man, she was sure, was playing with her. But not in the way of an attacker with his proposed victim, more as a way of self-defence. Which begged the question—what did he have to hide?
She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Mr—I don’t believe I caught your name…?’ She raised blonde brows questioningly.
He met her gaze unblinkingly. ‘I don’t believe I gave it,’ he replied hardly.
She was well aware of that, damn him. But she had thought that good manners would— Good manners! What was she thinking of? This man had no reason to be in the least polite to her, let alone introduce himself.
A fact he was all too well aware of, if the knowing smile that now curved his lips was anything to go by!
‘Or that you told me yours,’ he added pointedly.
He was right, Crys decided stubbornly, there was absolutely no need for the two of them to be in the least polite to each other. Besides, she felt a reluctance to tell this man anything more about herself than he already knew.
She stood up, wrapping her scarf back about her throat. ‘It’s getting late.’ She looked pointedly out of the window at the increasing darkness through the foggy haze. ‘I have somewhere else to go.’
Her chances of finding Sam Barton’s home before it became too dark to see anything were pretty slim now, she realised, but she would probably be able to find a hotel somewhere, and could give Molly a ring from there.
‘If you wouldn’t mind seeing me safely to my car,’ she prompted, as the man made no effort to stand up. ‘Merlin may not take too kindly to my going outside alone.’ In fact she was sure, without this man’s presence, that she wouldn’t get any further than the door before Merlin showed his displeasure!
‘Probably not,’ her reluctant host acknowledged dryly.
Crys held her breath as she waited for his next move. If he stood up to see her safely to her car, then all the misgivings she had had where he was concerned were simply her overactive imagination, but if he made no move—
She gave a nervous start as the telephone on the wall began to ring shrilly in the silence of the kitchen, her hat falling to the floor in her agitation.
‘It’s only the telephone,’ the man drawled derisively as he stood up, green eyes glittering with laughter now.
At her expense, Crys knew. But driving in the fog for several hours had already strung her nerves out to breaking point. This unexpected encounter with this man and his gigantic dog had done nothing at all to ease her tension!
‘I know what it is,’ she snapped, before bending impatiently to pick up her hat, her face slightly red from the exertion as she straightened to find him still watching her. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ She frowned as he continued to let the telephone ring. ‘It could be important.’
He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘It could be.’
The monotonous ring of the telephone began to grate on her already frazzled nerves. ‘Well?’ she said sharply.
He tilted his head, listening, finally giving a terse nod of his head as the telephone was abruptly silenced.
‘There now,’ Crys said with satisfaction.
‘Twelve rings before ringing off.’ He nodded.
‘Twelve…? But—’ She broke off as the telephone began to ring again.
‘Twelve rings, ring off, then ring again, and it’s family,’ the man told her moving to pick up the receiver.
Crys frowned at this explanation. She couldn’t have said how many times the telephone had rung before it had stopped, hadn’t been aware that this man was counting them, either.
‘And if it’s not twelve rings before ringing off?’ she found herself asking dazedly.
He put one large hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone, his expression grim. ‘Then it doesn’t get answered,’ he replied economically.
What a strange, strange man, Crys decided with a barely perceptible shake of her head. He lived in this crumbling castle in what appeared to be complete solitude, except for a dog half the size of a horse, chose to answer his telephone only when he was sure the call was from a member of his family, obviously finding any other contact from outside his solitary world a complete intrusion—and yet at the same time he felt enough compassion at the death of a wild dog to dig it a grave in ground that had been frozen for weeks.
Enigmatic hardly began to describe such behavior. He was completely beyond Crys’s comprehension—
‘Is it okay if I answer this now?’ He held up the receiver with his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Or do you have any other questions that need answering before I do?’ He quirked mocking brows.
Once again Crys felt that flush in her cheeks. ‘Go ahead,’ she invited dryly, turning away from the mockery in his gaze to move listlessly about the kitchen.
She would have liked to be able to leave altogether while he took the call, but she was still too all aware of the slavering Merlin patrolling outside. Besides—
Crys came to an abrupt halt in her aimless meandering, suddenly arrested by something this man had said on the one side of the conversation she could hear.
‘Just cut out the excuses, Molly, and tell me exactly when you do expect to get here?’ he barked impatiently. ‘The day after tomorrow?’ He obviously repeated the answer he received. ‘And exactly what am I expected to do with your guest until you do decide to put in an appearance?’ he added exasperatedly.
Crys was staring at him now, eyes wide with disbelief. Molly. He had named his caller as Molly!
‘Very funny,’ he retorted scathingly at the reply he received, shooting Crys an irritated look as he realised she was openly listening to the conversation. ‘Look, Molly, this was not part of the deal. I agreed to letting you bring this Chris here for a few days on condition you kept the parents off my back over Christmas—yes, I know you did that by inviting them to New York to stay with you. But that doesn’t alter the fact that you can’t just expect to dump this man on me while you— What did you just say?’ He became suddenly still, appearing all the more menacing because of that stillness.
Crys gave a wince, well able to imagine what Molly had only just informed him.
He had named his caller as Molly. And she lived in New York… It was too much of a coincidence for Crys to be wrong in the conclusion she had come to.
This man—unbelievable as it might seem!—had to be Sam Barton. Molly’s brother. And until a few seconds ago Sam had thought Molly was bringing a man called Chris to stay with him for a few days. She was sure he was no longer under that particular