One Reckless Night

She could see roofs and the church tower only a couple of hundred yards away. There’d be help there, or at least a telephone, she decided. She locked the car and began to walk down the lane, only to see ahead of her, as she rounded the first corner, a small garage and workshop.

Thank goodness for that, at least, she thought as she picked her way between the limited selection of secondhand cars on the fore court and entered the workshop.

She could hear music playing—one of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, she recognized with slight in-credulity—but could see no one. She moved forward uncertainly and nearly stumbled over a pair of long denim-clad legs protruding from under a car. And not just any car, she realised. It was a classic Jaguar—by no means new, but immaculately maintained.

A portable cassette player near the legs was presumably the source of the music.

Zanna raised her voice above it. ‘Could you help me, please?’

There was no response, so she bent down and switched off the cassette.

She said, on a crisper note, ‘Excuse me.’

There was a brief pause, then the owner of the legs disentangled himself from beneath the car and sat up, looking at her.

He was tall and lean, his mane of black curling hair shaggy and unkempt. From a tanned face dark eyes surveyed her expressionlessly. His T-shirt and jeans were filthy with oil. He looked, Zanna thought with faint contempt, like some kind of gipsy.

Still, any port in a storm, she consoled herself, with a faint sigh. And if someone was actually allowing him to work on a car like that, he couldn’t be totally incompetent.

He said, ‘Consider yourself excused.’ His voice was low-pitched, with a faint drawl and a barely detectable undercurrent of amusement.

Zanna stiffened slightly, needled by his continuing and lingering scrutiny. He would, she thought, know her again. She looked back at him coldly, registering in her turn a beak of a nose that had clearly been broken at some time, a cool, thin-lipped mouth and a chin with a determined tilt. An image not as easily dismissed as she’d first assumed.

She said briefly, ‘My car has broken down.’

He shrugged. Through a rip in his shirt his shoulder looked very brown. ‘It happens,’ he returned laconically. ‘My commiserations.’ And he moved as if to slide back under the Jaguar.

‘Just a moment,’ Zanna said with a snap, and he paused enquiringly. She took a breath. ‘I’m not looking for sympathy. I’d actually like you to fix it—if it’s not too much trouble,’ she added witheringly.

‘Now that’s the problem.’ His face was solemn, but under their heavy lids she could swear his eyes were dancing. ‘I am rather busy already. As you can see.’

‘Yes, but I have an emergency,’ Zanna said impatiently. ‘And this is a garage.’

‘Ten out of ten for observation.’

‘And you operate a call-out service,’ she went on. ‘It says so on the board outside.’

He wiped his hands on a piece of rag. ‘I’ll say this for you—you’re persistent,’ he remarked flatly. He slowly uncoiled himself and stood up. It seemed to take for ever. Zanna had always considered herself a reasonable height, but he towered head and shoulders above her.

Oddly intimidated, she found herself taking an involuntary step backwards. Her heel slipped in a patch of oil and she stumbled.

‘Careful.’ His hand shot out and gripped her arm to steady her.

‘I’m all right,’ she snapped, shrugging herself free and receiving a frankly sardonic look in return.

‘Well, you could have fooled me,’ he drawled. ‘Are you always this nervous?’

No, of course she wasn’t, and her overreaction to what had only been, after all, a fleeting contact vexed her.

She shrugged. ‘I’m just—anxious about my car.’

He sighed. ‘What seems to be the problem with it?’ he asked, without enthusiasm.

“The engine made a stuttering noise and just—stopped,’ she said rather lamely.

The firm mouth quirked. ‘Did it, now? Well, I suggest you go back to the poor thing and take a good hard look at the petrol gauge.’

Zanna gasped. ‘I filled the tank before I left the motorway,’ she said stonily. ‘And I can do without the patronising remarks.’

His face hardened. ‘Just as I can do without the aggravation. Try one of the motoring organisations, lady. They’re obliged to be pleasant.’

Zanna bit her lip. ‘But that could take hours,’ she objected. ‘Whereas you’d only have to walk up the road.’ She drew another breath. ‘Look, whatever the going rate is, I’ll pay you double.’

‘There speaks the complete autocrat.’ There was no doubting the amusement in his voice now, or the accompanying touch of contempt. ‘I have news for you, sweetheart. Market economy notwithstanding, not everyone’s for sale.’

‘With an attitude like yours, I’m surprised you have a business at all,’ Zanna retorted hotly. ‘Or do they take whatever they can get in this backwater?’

‘Pretty much,’ he said. ‘Although I understand they’ve stopped flogging the peasants and selling their children into slavery.’ The dark eyes swept her from head to foot again. ‘However, if it’s such a dump, why are you honouring it with your presence.’

‘I’m not,’ she denied curtly. ‘I’m just passing through.’

‘An interesting trick,’ he said. ‘Especially as the road comes to a dead end at Hollins Farm. Maybe you should trade the car in for a juggernaut, if you plan to drive over it. Or even an amphibious vehicle,’ he added reflectively. ‘Ted Hollins has a duck pond.’

For the first time in years she was tempted to the schoolgirl rudeness of sticking her tongue out at him, but managed to restrain herself. She simply could not afford to alienate him further.

Smile as if genuinely amused, she ordered herself through gritted teeth. ‘Actually,’ she said, with studied brightness, ‘I’ve come to see the art exhibition.’

His brows lifted. ‘It’s a very local affair. No Picassos or Van Goghs. You won’t need your American Express.’ He paused meditatively before adding, ‘But I guess it’ll keep you occupied while I’m looking at your car.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was glacial and his grin widened.

‘Keys?’

Reluctantly Zanna dropped them into his outstretched hand.

He nodded and walked past her into the sunlight with an easy, long-legged stride. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Needled by his casual dismissal, she hurried after him. ‘Where, exactly?’

He swung round and looked at her. The dark eyes seemed to burn suddenly into hers. He said softly, ‘Oh, I’ll find you.’

It could have been a threat. It might have been a promise.

But for one startling, inexplicable moment, the breath caught in her throat and her pulses juddered in a strange mixture of excitement and something bordering on panic. She nodded abruptly, then turned away and began to walk towards the village.

And she knew, before she’d gone fifty yards, that if she glanced back over her shoulder she would find him watching her.

CHAPTER TWO