Seductive Stranger Read online

  He had still been a very attractive man ten years ago, it had been easy to believe that Mrs Killane might love him, but now he was definitely middle-aged; after all, he was well past fifty. Had their feelings for each other burnt out or faded away with time?

  Of course, she couldn't ask Josh Killane any of these questions. She had just told him to wait until he knew more about her before coming to any conclusions; the same advice applied to her. If her father and Mrs Killane were still emotionally involved, she wasn't likely to miss it when she saw them together. People couldn't hide their feelings.

  Her green eyes were wry. Or could they? If the Killane family hadn't noticed anything going on all those years, maybe the lovers were good at hide and seek!

  It was all academic now, anyway! Her mother was dead; and it couldn't matter to her now whether or not she had been right in her suspicions.

  Prue's mouth tightened. It matters to me, though! she thought. I want to know, for my mother's sake. I want to know if she was imagining things all those years, if she was just a neurotic with a suspicious mind—or if she was cleverer than anyone else around here. It's time I knew the whole truth, and I owe it to her to find out, if I can.

  'There's the farm,' Josh Killane said, and she glanced upward automatically, without realising for a moment that she had remembered exactly where the farmhouse stood on the hillside they were climbing.

  'It hasn't changed,' she said huskily.

  'Things don't, around here,' Josh Killane said with satisfaction.

  For some reason that made her laugh, a little jaggedly, and he looked at her, narrow-eyed.

  'What's funny about that?'

  'I don't know,' she muttered. 'Nothing, I suppose! You just sounded so pleased about it!'

  'Why shouldn't I be?' he asked with faint aggression.

  Prue didn't answer for a moment, her green eyes roving around the hills and sky, the autumnal trees, the faintly misty valley.

  Her mother would have been appalled to hear that nothing in this valley had changed; she had hated it here! But Prue was glad to find the landscape, the farmhouse, everything she had seen on this drive from the hospital, so deeply familiar. The world changed fast; events rushed people onwards as if they were riding a whirlwind. While she was making her plans to come home, she had often warned herself to expect changes. In ten years this part of England could have been altered beyond recognition, and she felt amazingly comforted to find that it had not.

  She looked round at Josh Killane. 'As it happens, I'm rather glad too,'

  she ruefully admitted. 'I was afraid I wouldn't recognise anything, it would all be different, and I badly wanted it to be just the way I remembered it.'

  He grimaced, his dark eyes wry. 'Oh, I wouldn't hope for that—what you've been remembering may not be what you really knew. We tend to idealise what we've left behind.'

  She looked at the tussocky heather, the gorse, the almost leafless thorn trees on the hillside they were climbing. It was hardly an idyllic landscape; indeed, it was rough and forbidding, a landscape of survival rather than one of rich fertility, such as she and David had seen down south, on their way here.

  Yet this countryside had its own beauty, one to which her heart instinctively responded. This was where she had first opened her eyes, and she saw beauty where a stranger might not.

  'Oh, I don't think I've idealised anything,' she said, smiling, and Josh Killane smiled back at her, a spontaneous smile, full of warmth and charm.

  'Welcome home, then,' he said, and she felt a strange leap of the heart.

  They had reached the summit of the hill. Josh Killane suddenly pulled up at the side of the road, turning towards her, still smiling, an arm sliding along the back of the seat. Prue stiffened, her face uneasy, her intuition working overtime. He wasn't going to make a pass, was he?

  Did he think one smile was all it took?

  'Why have you stopped here?' she demanded, body tense.

  He stared for a second, then his lids half veiled his dark eyes, and his mouth curved in a crooked smile. 'Why do you think?'

  That did it. Prue was sure she wasn't imagining anything; the silky tone of voice or that mocking little smile. 'Will you start this car again, please?' she snapped, reaching for the door-handle, ready to leap out if he got any closer.

  'Oh, not yet/he said, lazily putting out one hand, but instead of touching her face he flicked the windswept red hair back from her averted profile, so that he could see her better.

  'Keep your hands to yourself!'

  'There's no need to work yourself into a tizzy,' he drawled, grinning. 'I didn't park here to make a grab at you, so you can stop breathing hard and shaking in your shoes!'

  'I'm not doing either!' she said at once, furious, but he looked smilingly unconvinced.

  'Aren't you? Then you're doing a great imitation of a female in a panic, and I can't think why you should. I only stopped here so that you could see the view!'

  Prue stared, open-mouthed. 'The view? Who do you think you're kidding? I wasn't born yesterday.'

  'No? And I was beginning to think that could be the only explanation!'

  She gave him a green-eyed glare. 'Aren't you funny?'

  He eyed her without so much amusement then. 'Miss Allardyce, I'm beginning to feel that for some reason you don't like me.'

  'Whatever makes you think that?' she sweetly asked.

  His mouth set hard. 'Get out of the car!' he said brusquely, and she tensed at the way he said it.

  He leaned over her as he finished speaking; his body touched hers briefly, but there was no provocative intention behind the contact. His dark eyes when she stared into them were hostile, not sensual. He opened her door and Prue almost fell out. Unsteadily, she turned and walked over to the drystone wall, so typical of the walls up here in the north of England; often built centuries ago to mark off land boundaries or keep sheep from straying, miles and miles of straight or meandering grey stone walls, in summer often overgrown with grass and gorse, in winter more prominent, like wintry veins across the barren fields. In dry weather, the walls were a dusty grey, but in rain they took on new life and shimmered, a slaty blue-black. She put her hands on the roughness of the stone, felt an insect tickle her skin, pressed down a soft cushion of lichen which left a yellow powder on her finger, but she was only half aware of doing anything; she wasn't even really looking at the stunning view below. She was brooding angrily over what had just happened.

  She might have over-reacted when he stopped the car here without warning—but he had had some fun at her expense and she didn't like it!

  He got out of the car, too, and came up behind her. 'If you look over the wall, you'll be able to see the whole valley from one end to the other,' he said coolly. 'It's a better view from here than you'll get from your father's farm, and I thought it might help you get your bearings again, jog your memory a little.'

  She stared down over the hillside to the valley far below; running in a misty green-grey sweep between the rounded hills. She could see the slate-roofed little market town and the hospital on its outskirts, from where they had just come; the main road and little toy-like cars moving on it, the village of Hallows Cross at the foot of this hill; a spire, a huddle of grey roofs and flinty walls, the village green in the centre by the church.

  'I didn't need my memory jogged,' she said. 'I hadn't forgotten anything.'

  'Except me?'

  A funny little shiver ran down her spine and she was glad she had her back to him because she wasn't sure what he might read in her face.

  'I didn't really know you,' she said stiffly.

  'Didn't you?' he murmured, and that icy shiver hit her again. What did he mean by that?

  'I don't think we so much as shook hands!' she snapped; suspecting another of his deliberate teases.

  'We kissed, though!' he said, but when she swung round, eyes wide open and incredulous, he was walking towards the car, saying over his shoulder, 'We'd better get on to High Hallows befor
e your father sends out a search party!'

  Prue climbed back into her seat, slamming the door to relieve her feelings. Obviously, it was nonsense. They had never kissed—for heaven's sake, she had only been thirteen when she left here, and Josh Killane had been . . . how much older? Ten years? More like twelve, she thought, eyeing him secretly. He must be thirty-five now.

  She decided not to argue with him, though. She was beginning to realise he was mischievous; the more she reacted, the more he provoked her. The best way of dealing with someone like that was to take no notice of them. Let him play his little games! She would ignore him.

  A half-forgotten quotation drifted through her head as they drove on up the road. 'He only does it to annoy because he knows it teases.' She couldn't remember where it came from, but it summed up Josh Killane! He was, after all, his mother's son; and hadn't her own mother always said that Lucy Killane was a born flirt and an inveterate mischief-maker? Prue had often doubted her mother's judgement about the other woman, not because of anything she herself remembered about Lucy Killane, but because of what she knew about her mother's jealousy and capacity to hate. Maybe she owed her mother an apology?

  She forgot all that though as Josh slowed the car to turn in between the open gates of High Hallows Farm. A- high, mossy stone wall ran along beside the road, hiding the house from the view of casual passers-by. Josh drove up the narrow drive between banks of untidy laurel and rhododendron bushes above which stooped bare whitethorn trees, their branches creaking and moaning in the wind.

  The house appeared and disappeared as they drove; an old house, square-built, of greyish stone, with a slate roof, a well-weathered oak front door with a great iron ring set in it for a doorknocker, wind-blistered white and green paint on the window-frames, and a look of endurance as it faced the onset of another winter.

  Josh pulled up and Prue got out of the car, staring, up at the house, remembering.

  Her father appeared from around the corner of the house. He was wearing an old tweed jacket, his trousers tucked into muddy Wellingtons, an old tweed cap on his head. 'Has it changed much?' he asked as he joined her.

  'Not at all,' she said, and couldn't stop herself giving Josh Killane a glance, but he apparently wasn't listening. He hadn't even got out of the car. He still had the engine running, and nodded to her father in a friendly way.

  'I'm in a hurry, Jim. See you.'

  'Hang on, Josh—Lynsey's here!' her father said hurriedly as the car began to move again, and Josh braked, a black frown dragging his brows together.

  'What?'

  'Josh, don't be too tough on her,' James Allardyce said softly, standing beside the car and lowering his voice so that Prue only just heard what he was saying. 'She's very young and she's finding it hard to cope.'

  'It won't make it any easier if she keeps running away! And why come to you?' There was a grimness to that question, a resentment, which made Prue turn away. This was obviously a very private matter they were discussing and she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't help wondering—who were they talking about?

  As she walked towards the oak front door she saw a girl standing on the threshold; a girl in jeans and a T-shirt—very ordinary, everyday clothes for someone whose beauty made Prue stop and stare. Was this the girl her father was talking about? She couldn't be much more than twenty, but her bone structure was so perfect that, if she had been sixty, Prue suspected she would still be lovely.

  'So there you are!' Josh muttered, grabbing the girl, and hustling her towards the car.

  'Don't push me around, Josh!' the girl burst out, fighting him all the way. 'I've had enough, I can't take any more!'

  'Snap!' he said, pushing her into his car in spite of her struggles.

  'Josh!' protested James Allardyce unhappily, trying to intervene, but he was ignored. Josh slammed the door on the girl, strode round, got back behind the wheel and started the engine. A moment later the car shot away, making a racing noise and grinding up the gravel on the drive. Prue and her father stared after it in silence, then James Allardyce sighed.

  'Oh, dear. I didn't handle that very well, did I? I promised Lynsey I'd try to make him see her point of view, but I didn't get the chance. Josh can be a difficult customer.'

  'Not can be—is,' said Prue rather blankly, for some reason taken aback by the way Josh Killane had acted towards the other girl. Was she his girlfriend? She couldn't be his wife, could she? Prue hadn't looked for a ring on the girl's finger; she hadn't even thought of that until now, but for some reason she hadn't pictured Josh Killane as a married man. He certainly didn't act like one! Or, did he? Married men could flirt, after all, couldn't they? Some men didn't let a little thing like marriage stop them chasing other women.

  Her eyes flickered to her father, a frown crossing her face. Her mother had always suspected him of chasing other women—one of them, at least. But had he? Prue simply didn't see him as the type, but how could she be sure?

  'He can be formidable!' James Allardyce grimaced, watching her troubled face. 'Is something wrong Prue? Was Josh offhand with you? He isn't still furious over the accident, is he? But he can't blame you—your fiancé was driving, not you! I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up myself, but...'

  'I know, he explained—wandering sheep!' She wound a hand through his arm, leaning on him. 'I understood. I'd have done the same in your place.'

  He looked surprised, staring down at her. 'Would you?'

  'I know I'm my mother's daughter, but I'm also yours, Dad—don't forget that!' She smiled reassuringly, and he put an arm around her, hugging her.

  'I won't! Now,, come and see your room. I've put you in your old room—I wonder if you'll remember it?'

  'Of course I will. I remember everything,' she said, following him into the stone hall. The floor had highly polished red tiling; there was a fireplace big enough for a child to stand up in, in which she remembered hiding. On either side of it, in alcoves, were wooden benches and above them dark oak bookshelves. She stood there, inhaling the remembered scent of lavender polish, beeswax, flowers.

  Her father went ahead, carrying her case up the winding, creaking stair leading to the first floor. She followed slowly, and now it was a sound she remembered. How many times as a child had she lain in bed and listened for the creak of her father's footsteps on the stairs?

  Farmers went to bed early, rose early—that was something else her mother had hated about the life here.

  James Allardyce put her suitcase down and Prue stood in the doorway, looking around her at the dark- beamed ceiling, the neat little bed with a pink satin quilt and a pile of crisp white pillows, the polished oak floorboards on which home-made tufted mats were scattered, the chintz curtains sprinkled with apple-blossom print. She recognised it all; even the dressing-table fittings were the same.

  'Nothing has changed!' she said wonderingly, and her father smiled at her, then his face changed, a sadness in his smile.

  'A lot of things have changed, I'm afraid. You, for instance—you're all grown up, not my little girl any more . .. and your mother ...' His voice broke off, he turned and looked out of the window, his back to her. After a moment he said, 'I'm so happy to have you back here, Prue. I don't wish your fiancé any harm, I'm sure I'll like him very much, but I'm not sorry to have you to myself for a while instead of having to share you with him.'

  He didn't wait for Prue to answer, he swung round and made for the door before she could get out a word. 'Why don't you take your time to get used to the place again? If you need me, I'll be in my office.'

  It was a peaceful day from then on; Prue unpacked and settled into her old room, then went downstairs and wandered around the house and garden, revisiting her childhood and feeling disorientated—yet quietly happy.

  Her father found her sitting on the old swing under the apple tree, a sheepdog beside her. Looking up at the sound of his footsteps, Prue asked, 'This isn't old Bess, is it, Dad? She hasn't changed a hair.'

  He grimaced. 'Bess
died years ago, I'm afraid—that's her daughter, Meg.'

  'Oh, poor old Bess,' Prue said, saddened. 'So, you're Meg, are you? I knew your mother, long ago.'

  James Allardyce watched her ruffling the dog's black and white ears.

  Smiling, he said, 'I came out to tell you lunch was ready.'

  'You didn't cook it yourself?' Prue stood up, looking stricken. 'I meant to help you, not make more work for you to do!'

  '1 would have had to get myself lunch, anyway. Cooking for two is no harder.' Her father smiled at her. in fact, it's easier, because it is more fun! Eating alone gets to be a bore.'

  Prue wondered if he had been very lonely all these years. Why hadn't she written? She had just pushed him out of her mind, hadn't she? Did he resent that? she wondered, following him back into the house, but although she watched her father secretly she saw no signs of either resentment or reproach.

  Next morning she rang the hospital, only to be told that David still couldn't have visitors. He had developed a slight fever; nothing to worry about, the ward sister reassured Prue, but it would be safer if he was kept in isolation.

  She spent the day getting to know her father better, walking around the farm with him and renewing acquaintance with their rough-pastured, hilly land and the surrounding countryside, being told about the sheep her father owned and watching the hoodie crows and the rooks, the magpies and hawks, all circling around the wandering flock, waiting their chance at them.

  Her father watched the ominous skies, eyes angry. 'Damn birds of prey! Look at them up there!'

  'Let's go home, and I'll make dinner tonight!' Prue comforted, and her father looked self-conscious.

  'Tonight we've been invited to dinner at Killane House!'

  Prue stood very still. Who had invited them—Josh Killane, or his mother? She felt the chill of a wintry wind blowing across the moors, lifting her red hair and striking through her clothes.

  'Or would you rather not go out tonight?' her father asked.

  She certainly didn't want to see Josh again; she had seen far too much of him already. She didn't want to see Lucy Killane, either. If she saw the two of them together, she might know how her father felt about Mrs Killane and she was no longer sure she wanted to know.