A Real Engagement. Marjorie Lewty

      CHAPTER TWO

      JOSIE’S hope for an undisturbed sleep was not realised. In the middle of the night she awoke with a start. Something cold and wet had crawled across her face. She sat up, her heart thumping. A snake? A lizard? With a cry of horror she made herself lift a shaking hand to brush it away, but her fingers encountered only water, and at the same moment a larger splash fell on her back and trickled coldly down her spine. More large splashes followed. She was wide awake now, and swung herself off the divan. Looking up, she saw that the ceiling had an ominous crack in it. At that moment the crack opened further, and the water that had been gathering behind poured down, straight on to the divan.

      Josie grabbed her gown, but it was soaking. She lifted her bag, the photograph and her watch on to the table and pushed it to the other side of the room. They all seemed to have escaped the deluge up to now. She squinted at her watch and saw that it was twenty past two. There was only one urgent thought in her mind now—the water had to be turned off and the tap was in the next-door house.

      Rummaging in her bag, she found an old pair of jeans she had brought with her for work in the garden. She pulled them on over her nightie and raced along the path to the next house. There was no reply to her loud banging, but she found that again the door wasn’t locked. She went in and felt around for a switch. The room was flooded with light. She yelled several times at the top of her voice ‘Help! Is anyone there?’ No reply. Josie looked uncertainly up the stairs. The man must be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Well, he was going to be rudely awakened.

      At the top of the stairs there was a landing with four doors. One was partly open to disclose a bathroom. She banged on the other three doors in turn, shouting, ‘Help! Emergency!’

      Still no response.

      She looked doubtfully at the three doors. She had to find the man, and fast. Choosing the middle door, she opened it and snapped on the light. She’d been lucky in choosing the right room, but only at this moment did she wonder if the man was here alone. She saw with relief that the hump in the bed belonged to one body only. His face was half-buried in the pillow, and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead. There was a sheet covering the lower half of his body but the top half was naked. Josie hoped he was wearing pyjama trousers, but this was no time for maidenly modesty. She walked across the room and grabbed his shoulder with both hands, shaking it as hard as she could. His skin felt warm and slightly moist under her fingers, and the muscles stiffened in resistance to pressure. At last he opened his eyes and blinked up at her in the light.

      ‘What the devil...?’ he muttered.

      ‘Wake up!’ she shouted. ‘Go down and turn the water off—now—or we’ll be flooded out.’

      He blinked again, and focused on her face. ‘You!’ he growled. ‘Look here, I’ve had just about enough of—’

      She gave him another shake. ‘Never mind what you’ve had enough of. Come down and turn the water off or we’ll both be drowned.’ She didn’t know whether the crack in the ceiling would reach to both houses, but that didn’t matter. It was her own house that was suffering at the moment.

      He levered himself up in the bed. ‘What?’ he shouted angrily.

      Josie gathered all her patience. ‘Flood,’ she said, slowly and clearly. ‘Water. Coming through the ceiling. Come down and turn the tap off.’

      She seemed to have got through to him at last. He threw back the sheet and got out of bed. Josie was relieved to see that he was wearing pyjama trousers. Cursing under his breath, he stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. Josie followed and waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. When he came out of the kitchen he glared at her and said nastily, ‘Well, I’ve turned off your water. What sort of game are you playing? First you want the water on, then you want it off. Is it your idea of a joke?’ He evidently hadn’t taken in all she had told him.

      ‘You’d better come and look,’ she said, turning towards the door.

      He stood where he was. He obviously wasn’t a man who liked to be given orders. But as she reached her sitting-room Josie heard his bare feet padding along behind her.

      Inside, the tiled floor was awash. Thank goodness she’d put her bag and the other things out of harm’s way on the table.

      The man was close behind her. ‘What happened, exactly?’ he said irritably, just as if she was responsible. ‘What were you doing to cause this?’

      ‘Don’t be idiotic.’ Josie had completely lost her temper with him. ‘Look up there,’she added dramatically, pointing to the widening crack in the ceiling.

      He looked up, frowning darkly. Then he splashed across the floor and examined the crack. Water had stopped pouring and was now merely dripping. He pulled the divan out of the line of fire and turned back to her. ‘How did you find out what was happening down here?’ he asked.

      Josie said, ‘I was sleeping on the divan and I was dripped on.’

      ‘Why on the divan? What’s wrong with the bedrooms?’

      She sighed heavily. ‘Do I have to go through this third degree? Briefly, none of the rooms upstairs has lights. The bulbs must have expired. I don’t happen to carry a storm lantern round with me.’

      Without another word he ran up the stairs and was down again in about half a minute. ‘You’re right,’ he said, joining her at the table. And then, wearily, ‘Well, you’ll have to finish your night’s sleep in one of my spare rooms.’

      ‘No,’ Josie snapped.

      ‘Now who’s being idiotic?’ the man said. ‘You can’t sleep here.’

      ‘Of course I can. I can feel my way into one of the beds upstairs. Or perhaps you could lend me a torch?’

      He picked up her bag. ‘No,’ she squealed, hastily pushing the silver-framed photograph into it and slipping the bracelet of the watch on to her wrist.

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Come along.’ He put a hand on her back to urge her to the door. ‘Good Lord, you’re soaking wet, girl.’

      Josie hadn’t had time to find a sweater before she rushed for help. Now she realised that the top of her thin nightie must have taken most of the first drips of water before she escaped. She also realised that his hand was still spread out on her back. She tried to twist away, but he was pushing her relentlessly to the door.

      ‘I’ll be OK,’ she muttered.

      He ignored that. ‘Everything can wait until morning,’ he said, and now he sounded very tired. ‘I want the rest of my sleep even if you don’t. No, don’t argue. I’ve no intention of pouncing on you; you needn’t worry about that.’

      She shrugged and gave in. He was much too strong to fight with.

      In the next house he led her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms. Switching on the light, he said, ‘There you are,’ and yawned. ‘Now, find something dry to put on and get into bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea. You look as if you need it.’

      His eyes passed dismissively over her as she stood, shivering, in the middle of the room, her hair lank and the thin nightie clinging revealingly to the top part of her body. She must look a sight, but it wasn’t kind of him to remind her of it. ‘Don’t make tea specially for me,’ she said, biting her lip to stop her teeth chattering.

      ‘Of course not,’ he said, and went out of the room.

      Josie pulled off the jeans and the damp nightie and found another nightie in her bag, one that wasn’t at all revealing. Slipping it over her head, she went along to the bathroom next door. She looked longingly at the modern shower, but that would have to wait until the morning. So she washed her face and hands and towelled her hair. Then she returned to the bedroom.

      She was too tired to take in any details of the room, but the rugs were soft and the double bed was blissfully comfortable as she crawled into it and propped herself up against