Dark Castle. Anne Mather

      ‘Mrs. Hunter means when we return to London,’ put in Jonas smoothly, levering himself off the couch and confronting Julie’s indignant stare. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. We shan’t need you any more tonight.’

      ‘No, sir.’ Mrs. Macpherson moved slowly towards the door, propelling the trolley before her. ‘Oh, by the way, Rob’s taken up Mrs. Hunter’s cases. I hope you’ll be comfortable—’

      ‘I’m sure you’ve done everything to ensure that,’ interposed Jonas patiently, although it was obvious he was eager to have the housekeeper outside the door. ‘Good night, Mrs. Macpherson.’

      ‘Good night, sir. Good night, Mrs. Hunter.’

      ‘Good night.’ Julie spoke automatically, but as soon as the door was closed she sprang to her feet, and said: ‘Exactly what did you mean by that?’

      Jonas was calm again, leaning back against the door with indolent grace. ‘By what? What did I say?’

      ‘Oh, stop it, Jonas, you know what you said. Look, I don’t know what you’ve told these people – or why you couldn’t have introduced me as – as a reporter from Peridot and nothing more! But the fact remains that Mrs. Macpherson imagines we’re a normal married couple and that I’m here on some sort of holiday!’

      ‘Don’t get so heated about it.’ Jonas drew lazily on his cheroot. ‘You want an explanation? All right, I’ll give you one. My grandmother knew I was married. Naturally Rob and Jennie Macpherson knew I was married. Around here, marriage means something.’

      Julie shook her head confusedly. ‘Your grandmother?’

      ‘Laura Drummond. I inherited Castle Lochcraig from her.’

      ‘Mrs. Drummond! Oh! I see.’

      ‘I gather Mrs. Macpherson has mentioned her to you.’

      ‘Well, yes. She – she said that I’m sleeping in her bedroom.’

      ‘That’s right. You are. My grandparents always slept in the master bedroom. In the old days, things were done in style. It was my grandfather who had the gallery built on the upper floor. Until then, all the rooms led out of one another, which was rather awkward if one had visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘My grandfather did quite a lot of modernization one way and another, installing bathrooms and plumbing, central heating …’

      It explained why the inner wall of the gallery was not as thick as the outer wall, but it didn’t really answer her question.

      ‘The Macphersons have never met me,’ she protested.

      ‘No. But they did see the wedding photographs. You remember there were photographs. Rather good ones, if I remember correctly.’

      ‘But – but your grandmother wasn’t at the wedding.’

      ‘No,’ he said again. ‘She was very old when she died. Too fragile to travel all the way to London just for the wedding of her grandson.’

      ‘But you never mentioned that she lived in a Scottish castle. That you expected to inherit.’ Julie was still groping to find some reasonable motive in all of this.

      ‘Would it have made any difference if I had?’ he queried levelly, and her nails dug indignantly into her palms.

      ‘Of course not. You know what I mean.’

      ‘Umm.’ He straightened, flexing his back muscles. ‘Well, I didn’t expect to inherit. The castle has always passed to the eldest heir. My mother, who incidently didn’t get on with her mother – my grandmother was a rather autocratic old lady and didn’t approve of my father at all – had a brother, my Uncle Stuart. He was expected to inherit. Unfortunately, Stuart never married, and he was killed eighteen months ago in an air disaster in Switzerland.’

      ‘I see.’ Julie tried to absorb this. ‘Was that when you came back to England?’

      ‘No.’ He moved away from the door and as this movement brought him nearer to her, Julie bumped down rather jerkily into her chair again. ‘I came back about a year ago. I lived in London for a time, working on my novel, and then when my grandmother died I came here.’

      ‘You – were – in London?’ Julie made a helpless little gesture. ‘I didn’t know.’

      ‘Why should you?’ His eyes challenged hers. ‘I was the last person you wanted to see, wasn’t I?’

      Julie looked down at her hands, regretting her momentary lapse. But she had always had the feeling that if ever Jonas returned to live in London she would know about it, sooner or later.

      ‘I still don’t understand why, if it was going to create so many difficulties, you insisted that I came here.’

      ‘Did I say it created difficulties?’

      ‘No, but—’ Julie moved her shoulders indifferently. ‘So – if I accept your reasons for revealing my identity, unnecessary though they seem, what do you intend telling Mrs. Macpherson when I leave tomorrow?’

      Jonas walked to the hearth and stood with his back to the fire, feet apart, the cheroot between his teeth. For a few moments he seemed to be considering what she had said, staring broodingly towards the heavy oak door. Then the dark eyes were turned on her.

      ‘Let’s face that when we come to it, shall we?’ he suggested evenly.

      Julie pressed her lips together. She didn’t altogether trust him or his motives. She could imagine her mother’s and Angela’s horror if they could somehow see her now. In their estimation there would be absolutely no excuse for her being there. And even Julie herself had found no good reason for Jonas’s insistence of her taking this interview. Not to mention the disturbing question of those clothes …

      Her head was beginning to ache from so much confused thinking. With a sigh, she got to her feet again.

      ‘Would you have any objections if I went to bed now?’

      Jonas threw the end of his cheroot into the fire. ‘But you haven’t had your coffee,’ he pointed out.

      Julie looked down at the exquisitely arranged tray. Mrs. Macpherson had obviously taken a great deal of trouble with it, but she could not stand any more of this ambiguous conversation. She needed to be alone for a while, to absorb what had been said, to try and make some sense of it all.

      ‘I really don’t think I want any coffee, thank you,’ she replied tautly. ‘I know my way to my room. So – so I’ll say – good night.’

      ‘Good night, Julie.’

      Jonas inclined his head enigmatically and she moved towards the door. For a moment she was tempted to reveal her feelings, to confront him with her fears and suspicions, to see how he would react. But then reason prevailed. Unless she included the summons that had brought her here, he had done nothing to arouse her antagonism. Since her arrival, he had been unfailingly polite, and the accommodation he had provided for her was more than adequate.

      Why then did she continually suppose there had to be some ulterior design behind it all? Had her own traitorous reactions to him in some way coloured her reasoning? She had known it would not be easy before she came here. Jonas had been, and would always be, a disturbingly attractive man, and it was natural that she, who had once been his wife in every sense of the word, should still experience a certain amount of awareness of his physical attractions. She could have refused to come, she admitted that now. But she had wanted to prove to herself that anything she had felt for him really was dead, and not just numbed by the shock of his guilt at the time of his betrayal.

      She opened the door and looked back at him. He was standing staring into the fire and for a moment was unaware of her scrutiny. There was a curiously vulnerable twist to his lips as he stood there, and something inside her contracted painfully.

      With a jerky movement she put herself outside the door and closed it behind her, closing her