Wild Melody. Sara Craven

sorry to have intruded,’ she began awkwardly. ‘If you would just give me Jeremy's present address, I'll be happy to leave you in peace.'

      ‘Out of the question,’ he said abruptly. ‘Good morning.'

      ‘What do you mean?’ Catriona faced him, openly indignant. ‘Are you saying you won't tell me where he is?'

      ‘Very perceptive,’ he said smoothly, and Catriona longed to slap him hard across that dark sneering face. ‘Now, on your way, my little orphan of the storm.'

      ‘I'm not——’ Catriona began to deny hotly, when it struck her with the suddenness of a blow that he was quite right. She was an orphan now. She looked at him mutely, unable to restrain her tears any longer.

      ‘Oh, for God's sake,’ he said bitingly. ‘Do you think I haven't had that trick tried on me a hundred times? Only it's never worked in the past, and it's sure as hell not working now, darling.'

      ‘I'm not your darling!’ Catriona rubbed her eyes vigorously with a scrap of handkerchief she had found in her coat pocket. ‘I think you're despicable!'

      ‘No doubt you do. But just remember, you got yourself in here under false pretences, so don't start complaining when the going gets tough.’ He gestured her towards the door.

      ‘It wasn't false pretences,’ Catriona protested. ‘I asked for Mr Lord. I thought it would be Jeremy.'

      ‘And instead it was me.’ He pushed his hair back from his forehead again, almost wearily. ‘A nasty shock for you, no doubt, and my advice to you is to go back where you came from as quickly as possible and get over it.'

      ‘I can't go back,’ Catriona said quietly. ‘What's more, I came here to find Jeremy and I won't leave until I've seen him. And he'll not be very pleased when I tell him how you've treated me,’ she added, a little vindictively.

      But far from being perturbed, he merely smiled faintly.

      ‘I don't think I have much to fear from that quarter,’ he said. ‘Tell me, why do you want to see him so urgently?'

      ‘That's my business.’ Catriona tilted her chin defiantly.

      ‘On the contrary, you've also made it mine. Besides, his mother has been on at me for years to take a proper avuncular interest in the boy. Oh, I forgot,’ he added satirically, as Catriona's eyes flew startled to his face. ‘I didn't introduce myself, did I. I'm Jason Lord, Jeremy's uncle.'

      ‘I didn't know Jeremy had an uncle,’ Catriona said numbly.

      ‘Well, he didn't tell me about you either, so we're quits. Well, Miss Muir, I'm waiting.'

      Catriona thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat to hide the fact that they were shaking. She met Jason Lord's scornful grey eyes with a flash of her green ones.

      ‘In that case he probably hasn't told you either that we're in love and going to be married,’ she said.

      He had been lounging rather negligently against the door, but at that he stiffened instantly. His eyes went over her again, not with the same contempt as before, but assessing her, almost stripping her, while the colour rose in her cheeks.

      ‘You're going to marry Jeremy,’ he said slowly. ‘What in hell's name gives you that idea?'

      ‘He did. Last summer.'

      ‘Which was a long time ago.’ He looked at her wryly. ‘And where was this—er—troth plighted, may I ask?'

      ‘At Torvaig.’ He still looked blank, so she explained, ‘It's a little village on the west coast of Scotland. It's not very well known, but Jeremy found it while he was touring, and he stayed on.'

      ‘I'll bet he did!’ There was an almost savage note in the muttered words.

      ‘Now will you let me see him?’ she begged.

      ‘No.’ He spoke almost reflectively. ‘In fact I think it's even more imperative that you use the other half of your return ticket and take yourself back to Torvaig and forget you ever knew Jeremy.'

      ‘I'll do nothing of the sort!’ she raged. ‘I have a right to see him. I've come to London and I'm staying no matter what you say.'

      ‘Look,’ he came to stand in front of her and gripped her arms tightly, his eyes bleak as a winter's day, ‘I'm telling you for your own good. Forget him and go home. Can't you take my word for it that it's the best thing to do?'

      ‘I wouldn't take your word for what day of the week it was,’ Catriona said angrily, and his hands fell away from her so quickly that she swayed a little, feeling oddly dizzy.

      ‘What's the matter?’ he asked.

      ‘I—I'm sorry. It's so warm in here.'

      ‘Not that warm. Have you had anything to eat?'

      ‘I had a few sandwiches on the train.’ How long ago that seemed, she thought tiredly.

      ‘That must have been a great comfort,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Well, you'd better take that appalling coat off and come with me.'

      ‘To see Jeremy?’ she asked hopefully.

      ‘No,’ he said witheringly. ‘To have some breakfast before you pass out on me. I want you leaving here on your own two legs, not carried out on a stretcher.'

      Catriona was just about to fling his insulting offer back in his face when it occurred to her how hungry she really was and how much better she would be able to continue the battle if she was fed. So more meekly than she felt, she allowed herself to be shepherded through the hall to the rear of the house and a large shiny kitchen.

      It was a poem in gleaming ceramic tiles and stainless steel with gadgets Catriona had only ever seen before in magazine pictures. Remembering the old-fashioned sink and scrubbed wooden draining board back at Muir House, she felt a stab of envy. It seemed so unfair that Auntie Jessie had had to struggle with her work, while this unpleasant man had been living in the lap of luxury with hardly the need to lift a finger for himself.

      ‘Mrs Birch!’ he called, and the woman who had admitted Catriona came bustling in.

      ‘Can you organise some breakfast for this starving morsel?’ He indicated Catriona with a casual wave of his hand and she went hot with fury. ‘Bacon and at least two eggs, I think. Oh, and porridge of course. She's from Scotland.'

      ‘Porridge, sir?’ Mrs Birch gaped at him. ‘Well, I don't know if …'

      ‘No,’ Catriona interrupted hastily. ‘I don't eat porridge.'

      ‘Heresy,’ Jason Lord said solemnly, but he was laughing at her, she knew. ‘Well, grapefruit, then, and lots of coffee, Mrs B., and I'll have some as well.’ He turned to Catriona. ‘You'll be quite safe with Mrs Birch. I'm going to finish shaving and get dressed.'

      Before Catriona could reply, he vanished.

      Mrs Birch was setting out plates and cups and Catriona could already smell the bacon sizzling in the pan.

      ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked shyly.

      ‘I can manage.’ Mrs Birch gave her a quick glance. ‘I should sit down before you fall down, lovey. You're as white as a sheet.'

      Catriona complied shakily. ‘I—I've had rather a shock.'

      ‘Well, I wondered, though it's not for me to say. I could have told you he doesn't like seeing people so early in the morning. And when I saw that guitar I said to myself, Elsie, I said, she hasn't got a prayer, poor little soul.'

      ‘My guitar?’ Catriona echoed bewilderedly.

      ‘He doesn't do musical acts, lovey. It's all current affairs and documentaries. I thought you'd have known that.'

      And as Catriona continued to stare at her in amazement, she tutted impatiently.

      ‘Well, you