Anne Mather - Impetuous Masquerade

‘Oh, no, honestly,’ Rhia hastened to reassure him. Simon took his work as a teacher very seriously, and it wasn’t his fault that his mother demanded so much of his free time. She was old, after all, and widowed, and Rhia sometimes wondered what she would do if Simon ever decided to move out. Perhaps she expected, if he got married, his wife would be prepared to move in , but Rhia knew she could never share a house with Simon’s mother. Mrs Travis was too set in her ways, too demanding, and certainly too attached to her son to allow any other woman to usurp her place in his affections.

‘You know what Mother’s like,’ Simon went on now, starting the car. ‘She hates the place to be in a mess, and the kitchen has taken longer than I expected.’

‘You have had to go to work as well,’ Rhia pointed out reasonably, glad to deflect him from her problems. ‘I think your mother forgets that.’

‘I know.’ Simon pulled out into the stream of traffic with a rueful grimace. ‘But it’s done now, and in future, we’ll be able to spend our free evenings together.’

‘Yes.’

But Rhia did not feel enthusiastic, and she had to make a determined effort to hide her misgivings as Simon rattled on about his day, and the play, and where they were going to eat that evening.

Chinese food was normally Rhia’s favourite, but this evening she only picked at her meal, pushing the chow mein round her plate in an effort to make it look less. Even so, she knew Simon had noticed, and when they were driving back to her flat, he cast her a doubtful glance.

‘You’re sure it’s not something I’ve done, Rhia?’ he ventured, taking one hand from the steering wheel to cover hers where they lay in her lap. ‘I mean, if it is, say so. I don’t like to think you’re keeping anything from me. We’re usually so close—very close.’ He squeezed her hands significantly. ‘In fact, I think it’s time we started thinking about the future— our future.’

Rhia extricated herself rather awkwardly and patted his hand. ‘Not tonight, Simon, mmm?’ she murmured, hoping he’d take the hint. ‘I really am very tired. I think I’ll stay in bed until lunchtime tomorrow.’

Simon took his dismissal with his usual good humour. ‘Okay,’ he said, bringing the car to a halt at the entrance to the apartment building. ‘I won’t press you now. But don’t expect the same privilege tomorrow.’

Rhia managed a faint smile. ‘Thanks, Simon.’

‘You’re not going to invite me in?’

‘Not tonight, no.’

Simon nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, leant across and kissed her. ‘Come on, then. I’ll see you to your door,’ he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek as he drew away, and Rhia touched his face tenderly before sliding out of the car.

‘There’s no need for you to come up with me, really,’ she exclaimed, as he locked the car. ‘It’s only half past ten. There are always people about.’

‘Nevertheless, I’d rather assure myself that you were safely home,’ Simon insisted, slipping his hand into hers. ‘Brr! It’s turning chilly. Let’s get inside.’

The block of flats was not new, and graffiti covered the walls of the entrance hall, and adorned the sides of the iron lifts that clanked their way to the upper floors. They were not attractive surroundings, Rhia had to admit, but the flats themselves were not too bad. The one Rhia’s father had leased had two bedrooms and a living area, as well as kitchen and bathroom, and the usual offices. When her father was at home, Rhia and her sister shared a bedroom, but while he was away Valentina had moved the things she kept at the apartment into his bedroom.

‘Here we are.’ The lift had deposited them at the sixth floor, and Rhia indicated her door only a few yards away along the uncarpeted corridor. ‘Don’t bother getting out, Simon, there’s no need. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’ Simon sounded a little disappointed, as if he had half expected her to change her mind and invite him in for coffee, but Rhia needed to be alone. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he agreed, tightening his grip on her fingers before letting them go. ‘I love you.’

Rhia was glad the lift doors closed before she could make any response. Aside from her anxieties about Valentina, she was not sure enough of her feelings for Simon to commit herself so completely. She liked him, she liked him very much, but love—love was something she had learned to live without.

She had loved her parents deeply, but they had found their children more of an encumbrance than anything, and boarding school had robbed her of their secure, if indifferent, presence. Then, when her mother died and she had thought her father might need her, he had proved otherwise, going off to South Africa with hardly a second thought for either her or Valentina. And now, Valentina was proving that Rhia didn’t know her either, and the idea of giving some man a similar kind of hold over her was not something she anticipated.

With a slightly dejected shrug of her shoulders, she trudged along the corridor to her door, fumbling in her bag for her key, paying little attention to anything else.

‘Miss Mallory?’

The brusque, yet attractive, tones set her nerves jangling, and she spun round tautly, automatically clenching her fingers round the strap of her bag, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary. She had heard nothing, she had thought the corridor was deserted, and looking up at the tall stranger standing right behind her now, she realised the vulnerability Simon was always speaking of. But the man had spoken her name, so he could not be a villain, could he? Why warn her of his presence, if he intended to attack her?

Certainly he did not look like a thief, but criminals were often plausible people. Where had she read that, or heard that? On television, probably. They were always warning women to be wary of any stranger, who might threaten their lives or their property, and this man was definitely a stranger. Her lips parted. Just because he was tall and dark-skinned and attractive there was no reason to doubt his duplicity, and her knees trembled violently as she struggled to remain calm.

‘What do you want?’

The involuntary question was a futile effort to gain time, but the corridor remained obstinately empty. The lift she had heard coming whined away past her floor, and she was alone and helpless, and hopelessly demoralised.

‘Relax, Miss Mallory. I’m not a thief or a rapist,’ the man assured her, in a crisp masculine drawl that had a decidedly un-English accent. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, but I thought you’d heard my footsteps. This corridor isn’t exactly soundproof, is it?’

‘Well, I didn’t.’ Rhia was trying desperately to regain her composure. ‘And—and one doesn’t expect visitors at—at eleven o’clock at night.’

‘I know. I’m sorry about that, too. But my time scale isn’t the same as yours, and right now, I’m not too concerned about your reactions to my visit. I need to talk with you, Miss Mallory. Now. So do you invite me in, or do I state what I have to say out here?’

‘Wait a minute …’ Rhia clutched her bag like a lifeline. He was going too fast, much too fast. Who was he? What was he doing here? And what right did he think he had to demand speech with her?

‘My name is Frazer,’ he said now, anticipating her next question. ‘Jared Frazer.’ His lean mouth twisted in an expression of harsh satisfaction at her involuntary withdrawal. ‘I see the name means something to you. It should.’ He paused. ‘I’m Glyn’s uncle. And I’d be interested to hear your explanation as to how come you’re so unconcerned that my nephew may be dying because of you!’