Comparative Strangers. Sara Craven
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edge, emotionally vulnerable. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was to be alone.
She found herself saying reluctantly, ‘Although there is the spare bedroom …’
‘Then it’s settled.’ His tone was matter of fact, without a trace of smugness. ‘Now, let’s get down to practicalities. Did you leave your keys in the car, or were you planning to jump with them?’
She gaped at him for a moment. ‘Oh—they’re still in the ignition.’
He nodded. ‘Then I’d better walk down to the bridge and bring the car back, before someone takes a fancy to it. Shall I put it away for you in the garage?’
It had to be one of the most bizarre conversations she’d ever taken part in! She wondered crazily what he’d have done with the damned car if she had really jumped, then pulled herself together.
‘Er—yes, please.’ She paused. ‘And I’ll make a meal for us.’ Nigel had always been incredibly fussy about food, requiring even a simple steak to be cooked to the exact minute he specified. Perhaps it was a family trait. ‘Have you any particular likes or dislikes?’
He said politely, ‘I don’t think so. Whatever’s going will be fine.’
Neutral could well be his middle name, Amanda thought crossly when he’d gone.
Her mother invariably left the refrigerator stocked as if for a siege, and Amanda extracted some lamb chops and the ingredients for a salad, before scrubbing two large potatoes, wrapping them in foil, and putting them in the Aga to bake.
She wondered whether Malory would expect to be entertained formally in the dining-room, and decided to pre-empt the issue by laying the kitchen table.
She still wasn’t sure why he was staying, or why she was allowing it, but she had a feeling it was going to be a long, awkward evening. Perhaps a drink might ease the situation, Amanda thought, although he’d probably opt for a small, dry sherry. She decided she’d better go along to the drawing-room, and see what there was. As she went through the hall, the telephone rang.
Her heart sank. Mother, she thought. Somehow, she was going to have to break the news that all the wedding arrangements undertaken so far were going to have to be cancelled. She only hoped Mrs Conroy hadn’t bought her outfit yet.
Sighing, she lifted the receiver and gave the number. But, instead of the excited rush of feminine chatter she’d expected, she found herself greeted by a profound silence. Puzzled, she gave the number again, and jiggled the rest. But the silence continued.
She said rather doubtfully, ‘Hello—can you hear me?’ Still nothing. But it wasn’t a dead silence, she realised. It was very much alive, because she could hear the faint sound of breathing at the other end.
Amanda’s nose wrinkled, and she slammed the receiver back on the rest, just as Malory walked back through the front door. He gave her a surprised look.
‘Is something the matter?’
‘Not really,’ she said tautly. ‘Just a crank phone call.’ She managed a smile. ‘And all in silence, too. I didn’t even manage to learn any useful obscenities.’
He glanced at the phone, his brows drawing together in a swift frown. ‘Well, I know a fair number. You’d better let me answer next time.’
‘Oh, there won’t be a next time.’ Amanda tried to sound breezy. ‘Once they realise you’re not going to flip, they try someone else.’
‘You’ve experienced this type of thing before?’
‘Loads of times,’ she lied. ‘Would you like a drink?’
Malory shrugged off his overcoat. ‘Thanks, I’ll have a large whisky.’ He gave her an enquiring glance. ‘Have I said something funny?’
‘Oh, no.’ Amanda swallowed. ‘You’re just—rather unexpected sometimes.’
‘Having always believed I was all too predictable, I’ll take that as a compliment.’ The phone rang again, and he reached for it, saying curtly, ‘Hello?’
If that’s Mother, she’ll have a heart attack, Amanda thought faintly. But she could hear no outraged squeaks. She looked at Malory, her eyes mutely enquiring, and he nodded. He was leaning against the hall table, looking very relaxed, a thumb hooked into the belt of his trousers. And he continued to stand there as minute after minute ticked past.
At last he said smoothly into the mouthpiece, ‘I’m prepared to stand here all night, if that’s what you want.’ He replaced the receiver with a slight grimace. ‘Our caller rang off,’ he said. ‘I think only one can play this particular game.’ He gave Amanda a long look. ‘Well?’
She bit her lip. ‘It’s a crank, I tell you.’
Malory shrugged. ‘Anything you say. Now, how about that drink?’
He followed her into the drawing-room, and watched as she poured a generous measure into a crystal tumbler, adding a splash of soda at his direction.
She said passionately, ‘It isn’t Nigel. It isn’t!’
He lifted his glass to her with an ironic glance. ‘Here’s to loyalty, however misplaced.’
She said, her voice shaking, ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’
He considered that for a moment or two, then said, ‘No.’
‘Then why are you so down on him—imagining that he would do anything as childish as those phone calls?’
‘Because it’s the kind of mischief he used to revel in,’ Malory said, after another pause.
‘In the past, maybe.’ Amanda shrugged that away. ‘But you haven’t lived under the same roof with Nigel for a long time now. He’s changed. He’s grown up. Can’t you understand that?’
‘There was certainly room for some maturity,’ Malory agreed caustically, ‘but his recent behaviour doesn’t show much evidence of it.’
It was infuriating not to be able to contradict him flatly, and Amanda seethed in silence.
Finally she said, ‘Are you sure you’re not just jealous—because the lady you wanted preferred Nigel?’
‘Oh, I’m jealous all right.’ He was smiling faintly as he said it, but Amanda felt a small frisson of something like fear shiver its way down her spine. ‘In fact, I don’t think I shall ever forgive him for it.’
She felt as if the cool, civilised mask had slipped for a moment, and it disturbed her. He had definitely cared for Clare more than she’d realised, she decided, and was brought, reeling, back to the conventional world by his polite, ‘Do you mind if I switch on the television?’
She said hastily, ‘Do—please,’ and beat a retreat back to the kitchen.
It was becoming evident that Malory Templeton was something of an enigma, she realised as she made the vinaigrette dressing for the salad. She had never thought Nigel and his half-brother were over-fond of each other, but now it seemed her erstwhile fiancé had made himself a real enemy.
‘This is a charming house,’ Malory commented later as they ate the blackberry ice-cream Amanda had produced from the freezer for dessert. ‘Do you live here all the time?’
She shook her head. ‘Mostly, I live in London. I share a flat with three other girls.’ She smiled faintly. ‘But I come down here every chance I get.’
‘I’m not surprised. Has your mother been alone for some time?’
‘Yes, Daddy died four years ago of a heart attack. It was—very sudden.’
‘They often are,’ he said. ‘My father died of the same thing, but in his case he had a number of advance warnings—all of which he chose to ignore.’ He sounded rueful.
‘Do