Comparative Strangers. Sara Craven

When they eventually ceased, she called to him.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ He came to stand in the doorway.

      ‘I’m frightened.’ Her teeth were chattering, but not because she was cold. ‘Do you think he—they will come back?’

      If he’d noticed that revealing self-correction, he made no comment. ‘I don’t think so. I imagine the purpose of the exercise—to give you a good fright—has been achieved.’

      She stared at him. ‘You really do think it’s Nigel, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes.’ His voice was matter of fact.

      ‘It can’t be!’ she denied vehemently. ‘No grown man could be so—childish.’

      He smiled. ‘I don’t think you can have known a great many grown men,’ he said with a touch of cynicism. ‘But perhaps we could continue this debate in the morning. I’d like to get some sleep.’

      A voice she hardly recognised as hers said, ‘I don’t want to be on my own. Stay with me—please?’ She saw the blank incredulity in his face and began to stammer, ‘I—I don’t mean …’

      He said rather drily, ‘I’m sure you don’t.’ He hesitated. ‘Very well, Amanda. I should have realised that appointing myself your guardian would have its drawbacks.’ He walked over to the bed. ‘At the same time, I hope you don’t think I plan to spend the rest of the night in that chair or on the floor.’ He kicked off his shoes, and lay down beside her, on top of the quilt. ‘This seems a suitably chaste arrangement under the circumstances.’

      She ventured, ‘But won’t you be rather cold? You can use the duvet, if you want.’

      He said evenly, ‘No, thank you. Don’t push your luck, Amanda. In spite of anything Nigel may have told you, I am not a eunuch.’ He reached out and switched off the lamp. ‘Now, go to sleep.’

      Face burning, she mumbled, ‘Goodnight.’

      She must be completely insane, she thought, asking Malory to share a bed with her like this, but the prospect of lying alone in the darkness, waiting for the next unnerving incident, was more than she could bear. She hadn’t really stopped to consider Malory’s feelings or reactions at all.

      Yet she couldn’t deny the reassurance of the weight of his body beside her on the bed, and the steadiness of his breathing. She didn’t feel she deserved this kindness from him, but it seemed to be there for her, just the same.

      With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, and within a few minutes, against all her expectations, was fast asleep.

      She awoke slowly the next morning to the aroma of frying bacon, and lay for a few minutes staring at her unfamiliar surroundings, wondering confusedly why she wasn’t in her own room. Then remembrance flooded back, and she shot out of bed and down the passage to her doorway.

      The square of cardboard over the broken window was like some grim exclamation mark, she thought, as she trod with care to the wardrobe and extracted jeans and a sweater. She washed and dressed swiftly, and ran downstairs.

      Malory was seated at the kitchen table. The smile he sent her was polite, but guarded. ‘I was just coming to wake you,’ he said. ‘Your breakfast is keeping warm.’

      Blushing a little, she brought her plate to the table and sat down opposite him. ‘You shouldn’t wait on me.’ She added self-consciously, ‘I—I went out like a light, last night.’

      ‘So I noticed.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I really should be going. Is there someone in the village who can fix that window for you?’

      ‘Mr Ambrose does all the jobs like that. I’ll phone him presently.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘You seem to have got rid of the broken glass.’

      ‘I used the vacuum first thing, while you were still giving your Sleeping Beauty performance.’

      ‘Oh.’ Amanda swallowed. ‘You did that? Well, it makes me feel worse than ever—about everything.’

      ‘Entirely unnecessary,’ he said calmly. ‘Last night, you needed a friend. Well, you’ve got one.’ He held out a hand to her. ‘Agreed?’

      She allowed his fingers to close round hers. ‘Agreed.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool.’

      ‘You’re probably entitled to be.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Will you be all right alone today, or is there someone who could stay with you?’

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said brightly. ‘And my mother will be returning later.’

      ‘Excellent.’ He got to his feet. ‘Goodbye, then.’

      And this time, Amanda discovered, he really had left. When she checked, trying to be casual about it, a little while later, his car had vanished. And so, apparently, had he—on a permanent basis.

      She wandered back into the cottage and shut the door. In spite of his remark about being her friend, she never expected to see Malory again. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

      He must think she was a complete nutcase, she told herself, and, what was worse, something of a tease as well.

      Stay with me—please, she mimicked herself savagely. God, what must he have thought? She was lucky he hadn’t even made a token pass. And it wasn’t very flattering to his masculinity that she hadn’t really considered such an eventuality when she’d made her plea. She’d only been thinking in terms of companionship and comfort.

      Perhaps, in spite of his rather edged remark, he didn’t have a very high sex-drive, she thought, shrugging. It occurred to her with an ache of her heart that Nigel would have made more than the most of such an opportunity.

      No, Malory was a mystery all right, and she had enough confusion in her life already, without embarking on the pointless exercise of trying to figure out what made him tick.

      Ships that pass in the night, she told herself resolutely as she headed to the phone to call Mr Ambrose. And better that she and Malory Templeton remain that way. Far better.

       CHAPTER THREE

      WHEN SHE HEARD the sound of a car outside two hours later, Amanda found she was mentally nerving herself to meet her mother’s reproaches. Mrs Conroy had been almost distraught when Amanda phoned her with the bald statement that her engagement was over.

      ‘Darling, you can’t be serious!’ she had wailed. ‘You’ve had some silly tiff, that’s all. I know it is. I’m coming home immediately to talk to you.’

      She had rung off before Amanda could tell her that the time for talking was long past. But then, her mother adored Nigel, and probably wouldn’t have listened.

      Amanda put down the crossword puzzle she’d been staring at as if the clues were in Sanskrit, and went into the hall to meet her mother, trying to think of some placatory remark as she did so.

      When the doorbell rang, she felt almost reprieved. It must be Mr Ambrose, she thought with relief. He’d promised in response to her urgency to ‘pop along as soon as maybe’ and see to her bedroom window. With luck, it might even be repaired before Mrs Conroy returned, and her mother need know nothing about it.

      The last person she expected to see on the doorstep was Nigel.

      If she’d had her wits about her, she would have slammed the door in his face, but, as she stood, gaping at him, he walked past her into the hall. He was rather pale, and there was a small muscle jumping at the corner of his mouth. He stood flicking his driving gloves against the palm of his hand.

      He said, ‘Manda, I had to come here. I couldn’t keep away. We’ve both had time to think—to calm down. You’ve got to listen to me.’ He looked round. ‘Are you alone this time?’ The question was edged. He was