The Millionaire's Castle

Chapter 3

he said quizzically, 'Hmm ... Large, pointed, sticky-out ears ... So how do I compare? Favourably, I hope?'

She smiled, and, relieved that he'd taken it so well, dared tojoke. ?Not altogether. After seeing some old reruns of Star Trek, I've developed a passion for Mr Spock.'

Her lovely, luminous smile, the hint of mischief, beguiling and fascinating, hit him right over the heart, and for a moment that vital organ seemed to miss a beat.

Striving to hide the effect her teasing had had on him, he pulled himself together, and complained, 'Being compared to Mr Spock and found wanting could seriously damage my ego.'

'Sorry,' she said, with mock contrition. 'I wouldn't want to do that.'

'So you weren't suggesting that my ears aren't as exciting asaVulcan's?'

'I wouldn't dare.'

'I should hope not.'

His sudden white smile took her breath away and totally overturned her earlier assessment that he lacked either charm or charisma.Obviously he had lashings of both, hidden

beneath that cool veneer.

All at once, for no reason at all,her heart lifted,and she found herself looking forward to the days and weeks ahead.

WATCHING her big brown eyes sparkle, Michael thought afresh how lovely she was.

He had been in Jenny's company now for several hours, and ought to be getting used to her beauty, almost taking it for granted.

But he wasn't.

In fact, just the opposite.

The fascination the first sight of her had aroused was still there, and growing stronger.

Which was bad news.

The last thing he wanted or needed was to be attracted to his new PA. That would be the ultimate irony, as Paul would be quick to point out.

That morning, when Paul had phoned to find out the result of the interview and Michael had admitted that Jennifer Mansell was on a month's trial, Paul had been quietly jubilant.

'I'm sure that in spite of all your doubts she'll prove to be just what you need.'

'We'll see,' Michael said cautiously. 'It depends on what kind of woman she turns out to be, and how I get on working with someone else.'

Paul grunted. 'Well, of course I can't answer for the latter,

but, so far as Miss Mansell's concerned, I've heard nothing

but good about her.

Though I'll keep my ear to the ground, just in case, and ifI do hear anything further I'll let you know. In the meantime stop being such a misogynist and give the poor girl a chance.

'She's known to be good at her job, and, as I said before, I don't think she's the kind to throw herself at you. If by any chance she does, for heaven's sake take her to bed. It might be just what you need to turn you back into a human being.

Thanks for the advice,' Michael said dryly, 'but I've had my fill of women.'

Now he found himself wondering how he would react if Jenny Mansell did throw herself at him.

So far she'd given not the slightest sign of wanting to do any such thing. Rather, she had trodden warily, as though negotiating a minefield, looking anything but comfortable whenever the conversation showed signs of straying into the more personal ...

Becoming aware that time was passing, he swallowed the remains of his coffee and remarked, 'If you're ready, we really ought to be on our way.'

Jenny, who had been sitting quietly watching his face, wondering what he was thinking, said, 'Yes, I'm quite ready.'

There would be no hurry if we didn't need to be over the causeway before the tide turns.'

His words reminded her of her earlier doubts about the advisability of being so isolated, and perhaps some of that uncertainty showed on her face because, frowning, he queried,

'Is there something wrong?' have doubts, common sense

She hesitated. If she did still told her she should voice them now, before it was too late ... He was watching her face, concerned that for some reason

she was going to back out at the last minute, and his voice was tense as he demanded, 'Well, is there?'

She lifted her chin, and, knowing that she was going anyway, regardless of doubts, answered, 'No, there's nothing wrong.'

Then perhaps you'd like to freshen up while I pay the bill? I'll see you back at the car.'

As Jenny washed her hands and tucked a stray hair or two into the silky coil she rationalized her decision by telling herself that, having come this far, had she confessed to doubts he would have had every right to be angry.

She had a feeling that, in spite of his offer of a month's trial period, he hadn't been particularly keen to engage her in the first place, so he might have been glad of the opportunity to send her packing back to London.

Then not only would she have missed her chance to stay on Mirren, but it would have meant losing a job she'd really wanted without even starting it, and never seeing Michael Denver again.

The latter shouldn't really matter.

But somehow it did.

Though she was too aware of him to be altogether at ease in his company, she wanted the chance to get to know him better, to find out for herself just what kind of man he was, what made him tick.

When she made her way outside, he was waiting to settle her into the passenger seat.

The sun, though low in the sky, was still shining, but already the air seemed chillier, less clear, promising the onset of an early dusk.

'How long before we get to Mirren?' she asked as they left the Grouse and Claret behind them and headed for the coast.

'Half an hour or so.'

Unwilling to ask direct questions, she suggested innocently,

'Perhaps you could tell me something about the island?

What do you know already?'

'Apart from what I saw on that one short visit, and what you've already told me, nothing, really. I only know that it's always fascinated me.'

Well, it's roughly nine miles long by three wide. The higher ground is interspersed with pasture land, and, apart from some stands of pines, the only trees are the ones around Slinterwood.

'Because the island has fresh water springs, it's been inhabited for centuries, and for most of that time it's been home to a rare breed of sheep similar to merinos, prized the world over for their fine, soft wool.

'These days a lot of the farmland has been turned into market gardens, which produce organic fruit and vegetables for the top London hotels.'

With a slight grin, he went on, 'At the risk of sounding like aguidebook,I'lljust add that on the seaward side there are some pleasant sandy coves, ideal for summer picnics and swimming.'

'It sounds lovely.'

'It's certainly picturesque.'

She waited, hoping he'd tell her more about his connection with the island, and about the family who owned it.

But he changed the subject by remarking, 'One good thing abouttravellingat this time of the year is that there's not too muchtraffic.'

There proved to be less as they approached their destination. Even in high summer this part of the coast was relatively quiet,and now the coastal road was deserted in both directions as they joined the rough track that led down to 'The causeway.

Glancing at the water, Michael remarked,

The tide must have turned some time ago.

'How can you tell?' she asked.

'At low tide there are sand flats on either side of the causeway. Now they're almost covered, which means we're only just in time to get across.'

She felt another little shiver of pure pleasure at the thought of staying on the island she had always considered to be a special, enchanted place.

In the meantime, the here and now was magical. The early eveningair was quite still, the water flat calm, the raised causeway, a shining ribbon edged by black and white marker poles, curled into the distance, where Mirren seemed to float, serene and enchanted, on a sea of beaten silver.

Dusk was already creeping in, veiling a sky of icy pearl with delicate wisps of grey and pink and the palest of greens.

Jenny found herself holding her breath as they started across the causeway, almost expecting the island to retreat before them like some mirage.

They were nearly halfway across when a slight change in the lie of the land brought into view the twelfth-century castle.Itstowers and battlements silhouetted against the sky, it seemed to be part of the craggy outcrop of rock on which it stood.

As it had on her first visit, the sight brought a strange surge of emotion, and, feeling as if her heart were being squeezed by a giant fist, she sighed. It must have been wonderful to have lived there.

As though reading her thoughts, Michael remarked, 'It seems a shame that the castle is no longer inhabited.'

He'Perhaps shook it's his unsafe?' head. 'Though she hazarded.the stone is crumblingalittle in parts, it's still structurally sound.'

So why wasn't it still lived in?

she wondered.The question trembling on her lips,she glanced at him, but

something about his hard, clear-cut profile, the set of his jaw, convincedherthatshehad asked enough questions for one day, and, biting it back, she returned her attention to the view.

Leaving the causeway, where the impatient tide was already lapping at the marker poles, Michael took the road that she had driven up all those years ago.

Having reached the castle and passed the spot where she had parked previously, they carried on up the winding road, skirting a high bank on the right.

Growing on the rocky bank amongst the dried bracken were a straggle of gorse bushes, some of which were in full bloom.

As they drove up the hill, in the nearside mirror Jenny caught a glimpse of Mirren Castle from a new and intriguing angle, and asked impulsively, 'Would you mind very much if we stopped for a moment? I'd like to take a closer look at the castle.'

'Of course not.' He brought the car to a halt and climbed out to open her door. Then together they walked back a few yards to a natural vantage point.

The air was bitingly cold, and even in so short a time the sky was starting to lose its colour and get hazy, while a bank of cloud had appeared on the horizon behind the castle.

'It looks so different from here,' she exclaimed, after she'd studied it for a moment or two. 'I hadn't appreciated that the rearwallswere built on a cliff that drops straight into the sea. It must have made it much easier to defend.'

'It was a virtually impregnable fortress in its day. The enemy got through its outer defences only once and that was due to an act of betrayal ... '

Eager to hear more, she turned to look at him, her face ex-pectant.

One of the defenders, who had been bribed by the besieging army, crept down at night and raised the portcullis.

But

he didn't live to benefit from his treachery. It seems he was one of the first to be killed before the enemy were driven out.'

Seeing her shiver in the thin air, he broke off and said briskly, 'You're cold. We'd better get moving.

As they walked back to the car, noticing the yellow gorse flowers glowing eerily now in the gathering dusk, she remarked wonderingly, 'Isn't it amazing how anything can bloom in such bitter weather?'

Reaching to open the car door, he said, 'Luckily, gorse blooms all the year round.'

She glanced up at him. 'Luckily?'

Surely you've heard the old saying, "When gorse is in bloom, kissing's in season"?'

She smiled, and, glancing up to make some light remark, saw the sudden lick of flame in his eyes and read his intention. But trapped between the car door and his tall, broadshouldered frame all she could do was stand gazing up at him, her big brown eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, her wits totally scattered.

As he bent his dark head and kissed her mouth her eyes closed helplessly, shutting out the world and leaving only sensation.

Just at first his lips felt cold, then the coldness turned to heat as his mouth moved lightly against hers, making every nerve-ending in her body sing into life and sending her head spinning.

Though Jenny had been kissed many times, and though most of those kisses had been long and ardent,somehow they had failed to move her, leaving her feeling untouched,aloof,

uninvolved.

Andy's kisses had been pleasurable different and exciting, yet even they had left some small part of her vaguely dissatisfied.

But while Michael's thistledown kiss couldn't have lasted

more than a few seconds, by the time he lifted his head her legs would no longer hold her and her very soul seemed to have lost its way.

Opening dazed eyes, she became aware that he was half supporting her, and made an effort to find her feet and stand unaided.

Though he too had been knocked sideways, partly by her response, and partly by a torrent of feeling that had almost swept him away, his recovery was light years ahead of hers. Cursing himself for a fool, he stepped back.

He hadn't meant it to happen. Kissing her had been a sudden impulse that he knew he ought to regret.

But somehow he couldn't.

Though if her office reputation was anything to go by, she should be angry at the liberty he'd taken, more than ready to slap him down.

But a quick glance at her face showed that she looked neither. She still appeared dazed, as if that kiss had shaken her as much as it had shaken him.

Seeing that she was starting to shiver, he opened the car door and, a hand beneath her elbow, helped her in.

Without a word, she sat down and fumbled for her seat belt. She still hadn't fastened it by the time he slid behind the wheel, and he leaned over to fasten it for her.

As his muscular thigh accidentally pressed against hers, though she said nothing, he felt her instinctive withdrawal.

While he started the car and put it into gear, Jenny made an effort to pull herself together and make sense of her feelings. After all, what had happened A kiss really? Just a light, casual kiss

to illustrate an old saying. A kiss that had clearly held no im-

portance for him. Yet remembering that little lick of flame in his green eyes the before he had kissed her, she wondered if it had been quiet that casual.or had it been a preliminary? A chance to test the

water,so to speak?

Though from what she'd heard, she had formed the distinct impression that after his disastrous marriage Michael Denver was reluctant to have anything to do with the female s*x. And the vibes she had picked up during the interview had gone to support that.

Recalling how his jaw had tightened as though he was in pain when the landlord of the inn had mentioned his ex-wife and the likelihood of a reconciliation, she wondered if perhaps he still loved her.

From all accounts she had been the one to stray, and perhaps, when it was too late, she had found herself regretting that lapse.

After all, she had opposed the divorce. And she must believe he still loved her, or she wouldn't have talked to the press about the possibility of them getting back together.

True, he had denied it, but maybe it was only his hurt pride and anger that had so far prevented him from taking her back? Or maybe he was simply teaching her a lesson?

If he was, while he was, he might need a woman in his bed. s*x without strings or commitments, simply to assuage a natural appetite?

But in these days of s****l freedom and equality, many women felt the same. And why not?

Except that personally she couldn't embrace that way of thinking. So if Michael Denver was hoping for someone to keep his bed warm while he was away from London-and that could account for the very generous salary-she might have a problem.

It was a far from reassuring thought, and she began to wish that she hadn't accepted his offer.

'Another minute or so and you'll be able to see Slinterwood Bay.' His quiet remark broke into her uneasy thoughts.

His tone was so down-to-earth, so mundane, that all at once hervision of having to fight him off dissolved into the absurd.

Talk about letting her imagination run away with her! It wasjust as well he didn't know what she'd been thinking, otherwise he would be wondering what kind of madwoman he had hired as his PA.

Still berating herself, she turned her attention to the scenery once more.

They had breasted the rise and were following the coast road that curled round behind the bluff. On their left the dimpled sea was spread like a sheet of pewter in the silvergrey dusk, the tide creeping up the smooth expanse of sand and eddying between low outcrops of rock in the small bay.

The sky was still clear enough to catch a glimpse of a thin silver crescent of moon, while far out to sea a bank of purple cloud formed a mountain range on the horizon.

'And there's Slinterwood itself.'

In a sheltered hollow at the foot of the hills, a stand of mixed trees, some deciduous, some coniferous, curved a protective arm around a long, low, creeper-clad house.

Wisps of pale smoke were curling lazily from two of its barley-sugar chimneys and hanging in the still air like twin genies.

Surrounded by a low-walled terrace, the house was built of stone, with crooked gables, overhanging eaves, and dormer windows. It looked as if it had stood in that spot since time

where, immemorial.On the well seaward above side, the high-water stone steps mark, ran down a small to the blue beachand

terrace, white rowboat and came had to been a halt through turned by an the upside old down.led with to the front

They took the track through the trees led to the front terrace, and came to a halt by an old oak door with a lighted

lantern above it.

Jenny smiled. With an arched top, black iron studs and hinges, and wood bleached to a pale, silvery grey, it was the kind of enchanted door that was familiar from childhood fairy tales.

Either side of the door were long windows made of small,square panes of glass, the edges encroached on by trails of ivy.

When she had gathered up her coat and bag, Michael helped her out, before retrieving her case.

He appeared to have no luggage of his own, but of course, as he came here regularly, it would be like a second home.

Lifting his head, he asked, 'Can you feel how still it is?'

And it was. Nothing moved in the blue-grey dusk. Not a single twig stirred, not an ivy-leaf quivered. Everything was so calm and motionless it was as if the very air held its breath in anticipation of the coming night.

'Winter evenings on Mirren often bring this kind of stillness,' he added as they made their way over to the door.

Jenny had half expected the housekeeper to be waiting, but when no one materialized, apparently unsurprised, Michael produced an ornate key and turned it in the huge iron lock.

Then, swinging open the heavy door, he switched on the lights and ushered her into a panelled hall that ran the entire width of the house.

There were doors to the right and left, and at the opposite end-like a mirror image of the landward side-were a matching door and windows that looked towards the dusky sea.

The wide floorboards were of polished oak, and on the right a dark oak staircase climbed up to the second floor.

Since drawing up outside, and seeing that fairy-tale door, Jenny had felt as if she knew the place. Now, as she stepped over the threshold, she had the strangest feeling that she had been here before. That the old house had been waiting for her return, and welcomed her back.

Catching sight of her expressive face, Michael asked,

'What is it?'

'Nothing... Seeing he wasn't convinced, she admitted, '1 just had the strangest feeling that I know the house. That it's familiar...

He set her case down, and without believing it for an instant elsuggested, 'Perhaps you've been to Slinterwood before?'

'No, I'm sure I haven't. It must be déjä vu.'

Yet though she was quite certain she had never been here before, the feeling of warmth, of being made welcome, of coming home, persisted.

aMichael, who had always believed that houses had their asown aesthetic or emotional effect or appeal, an atmosphere Iththat anyone sensitive could pick up as vibes, asked carefully, 'This feeling. . . Is it an unpleasant one?'

'No... No, anything but.'

'But quite strong?'

'Yes. Very.'

'When you say you feel you know the house, can you visualize the layout of the rooms?' the'No... I don't think so...

ireSomething impelled him to say, 'Try.'

Standing quite still, she closed her eyes. 'The doors on the sitesame side of the hall as the stairs lead to a big living-kitchen and... I suppose you'd call it a morning room.

•What 'Ibout upstairs?'

()pening her eyes, she said, 'I'm not sure... I think there's a tnas;ter bedroom above the living-room, and several smaller bedrooms with fireplaces, sloping ceilings, and polished floorboards.

'At the end of a corridor, there are two steps down to a big, old-fashioned bathroom, with a claw-footed bathtub... '

A curious note in his voice, he said, 'And you think that's an accurate description of the rooms?'

She shook her head with a self-deprecating smile. 'I'd be very surprised if it were.'

'Why?'

'Well, either it's complete guesswork, or it's something I've dreamt at one time or another.'

Though she tried to keep it light, the clearness and certainty of those mental pictures had shaken her somewhat.

With no further comment, he picked up her case and turned to lead the way up the stairs and along a corridor with polished

oak floorboards.

'I understand from Mrs Blair that she's put you in the lilac room.'

He slanted her a quick glance, as if he expected some comment, but all she could think of to say was, 'That sounds lovely.'

It was a pleasant room on the seaward side of the house,

with light, modern furniture, pale lilac walls, white paintwork and, rather to her surprise, an en-suite bathroom.

Except for the sloping ceiling, the polished oak floorboards and scattered rugs, it wasn't at all what she had visualized.

Knowing he was watching her face and aware of the relief she couldn't altogether hide, she observed, 'There'S no fireplace.'

His voice level, he told her, 'At one time there were fireplaces

in all the rooms. But apart frotll the one in the main bedroom, they taken out sotne three or four years ago when oil-fired central heating and en-suite bathrooms were put in.'

•Oh.' she said. a shade hollowly.

Putting her case on an oak blanket chest, he offered, •Befotw• you nvake yourself at hotne, I'll show you the rest of the upstains.•

Opening d00ß and switching on lights as they went, he told her. 'Next door is tuy room...'

The main bedroom was a large, attractive room with a black-beanwd ceiling, polished period furniture, and a stone fireplace, in which a log fire had been laid ready.

'And across the landing,' he went on, 'there are three smaller bedrooms, pretty much the same as yours, and a bathroom.'

The bathroom, which was at the end of a short corridor and down two steps, had a claw-footed bathtub, just as she had described.

Seeing he was waiting for her to say something, she offered as carelessly as possible, 'A lucky guess.'

Thoueh he frowned a little, he made no comment.

As they went back across the landing he suggested, 'When you've had time to freshen up, come down and we'll have a cup of tea before I show you round the rest of the house.'

Nodding her thanks, she returned to her room, where she gnawed her lip thoughtfully.

Common sense told her that it was silly to find herself still Wondering if she'd been here before, when she knew quite well she hadn't.

so where had those vivid mental pictures come from?

Haying seen the outside of the house—with its steep gables and plethora Of chimney pots—the fireplaces and sloping ceilings were a logical deduction. While the position of the bathroom, and the steps leading down to it, must have been just a lucky guess.