Leopard In The Snow. Anne Mather

“However, it’s unfortunate that your memory serves you so well. I should have thought a child of sixteen would have been more interested in popular music and its idols.”

      “I’ve told you – my father went to racing events. Sometimes I went with him.”

      “Oh, yes, your father.” His eyes narrowed broodingly. “A curious anomaly.”

      “What do you mean?” His words troubled her a little.

      Dominic Lyall moved his powerful shoulders in a deprecative gesture. “I should have thought it would have been obvious, Miss James.”

      “What would have been obvious?”

      He regarded her with that denegrating unblinking stare. “Why, your recognising me, Miss James. A most – unfortunate occurrence. I’m afraid it means that you will not be leaving here in the morning, after all.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      FOR several minutes there was complete silence in the room. Helen couldn’t believe she had heard him aright, but something in that lean, harsh countenance warned her that she had.

      “You – you can’t be serious!” she said at last.

      “I’m afraid I am, Miss James.”

      “But – but why? Why?”

      “Surely that’s obvious, too. I have no intention of laying myself open to the kind of publicity that the discovery of me living here would create.”

      Helen refused to admit to the sense of panic that was churning inside her. “But – but I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she protested, saying the words she had heard so many times on the films and in television when the central character was confronted by some fugitive from the law. But Dominic Lyall was not a fugitive from the law – only from the world!

      “I’m afraid I couldn’t take that risk.” He shook his head. “I think the temptation to tell your father that the man he thought dead was alive and well and living in the Lake District would be more than you could stand.”

      “It – it wouldn’t!” Helen twisted her hands together. “In – in any case, you can’t keep me here! I – it’s illegal!”

      His smile was not pleasant. “Really?”

      “But – but it’s insane! I mean, my father will be looking for me!”

      “You told me yourself he would never dream of looking for you here.”

      “Not initially, no. But if all else fails –”

      “By then you will no doubt be free to go back to him.”

      She trembled. “What do you mean?”

      “Simply that I intend to make arrangements to leave the country. Until I do, you will remain.”

      Helen gasped. “But that could take months!”

      “Weeks, anyway,” he conceded dryly.

      The door opened suddenly behind her and she started nervously. It was the manservant, Bolt, who stood on the threshold, his massive shoulders coated with snow.

      “Ah, Bolt, you’re back.” Dominic Lyall greeted the man with a warmth he had not shown to Helen. “Did you find the car?”

      Bolt grinned. “Yes, sir. The suitcases are in the hall. If you’ll give me a moment to shed my coat, I’ll show the young lady to her room.”

      Dominic Lyall nodded. “Do that, Bolt. And by the way, our house guest’s name is Miss James, Miss Helen James. She’ll be staying with us rather longer than we expected.”

      Helen had no idea what message flashed between the two men, but Bolt’s only show of surprise was a faint drawing together of his brows. He tossed Helen’s keys and said: “Yes, sir.”

      “I’ll take those,” went on his employer, catching the keys as Bolt tossed them to him. “I’ll explain the situation later, right?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Bolt was infuriatingly complacent, and Helen, standing watching the two men, felt absurdly near to tears. This couldn’t be happening to her. It really couldn’t. Dominic Lyall wasn’t seriously intending to keep her here until he made arrangements to leave the country, was he?

      “I don’t want to see my room!” she burst out tremulously. “You can’t keep me a prisoner here, you can’t!”

      Dominic Lyall’s mouth had a slightly cruel twist. “And how do you propose to prevent me?” he enquired, in a soft, menacing tone.

      “I – I’ll run away –”

      “Again?”

      “I’ll go to the nearest farm – or village. I – I’ll phone for help!”

      “There are no phones here, Miss James.”

      “I mean – in the village.”

      “Do you know the way to the village?” Dominic Lyall asked quietly.

      “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find.” Helen’s voice broke.

      “In these conditions?”

      A sob rose in her throat. “You’re mad! Mad!” She caught her breath. “I don’t want to stay here. I just want to go to Bowness. I promise I won’t tell a soul I’ve seen you. Just let me go!”

      “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss James.” Her tormentor turned to Bolt. “We must move the car tomorrow. Before the thaw sets in.”

      Bolt nodded. “I’ll see to it in the morning.”

      Helen felt a devastating sense of hopelessness. There seemed no way out of this bizarre situation. Out of her own mouth she had condemned herself. If she had not told him of her flight from her father – if she had not recognised him – if, if, if …

      “You can’t stop me from trying to escape,” she declared tremulously.

      “I shouldn’t advise it,” Dominic Lyall commented, flexing his back muscles.

      There was a definite look of weariness about him now and Helen realised with a pang that it was standing so long that tired him. She ought to have felt glad that he was not as invulnerable as he would like her to believe, but she didn’t. A traitorous sense of compassion was stirring within her, and she wondered what it was that had made him spurn the world he knew for this almost ascetic isolation.

      Bolt, too, was aware of his master’s discomfort, and with the familiarity of years of service said with anxious reproof: “It’s almost time for your treatment, sir. If you’ll go down, I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve shown Miss James to her room.”

      Dominic Lyall’s expression showed vague self-derision as he looked across at Helen. “You see how it is with me?” he demanded bitterly. “I’m like an old piece of machinery that needs constant oiling, aren’t I, Bolt?”

      Helen’s lips parted. “You’re not old!” she exclaimed, unable to prevent herself.

      “At least as many years older than you were when first you heard my name,” he stated grimly, as a spasm of pain crossed his lean face. “If – you will – excuse me …”

      He left the room limping heavily, his hip twisting in a grotesque distortion of itself. Bolt watched him go, an expression of such love and devotion on his face that Helen felt almost an interloper. The cheetah, too, moved silently after its master and then Bolt turned back to her.

      “One moment, miss,” he said, unbuttoning his fur-lined overcoat and taking it off. “If you’ll come with me.”

      Helen wanted to protest. She ought