Marjorie Lewty - Misleading Engagement

In the light from the hall she saw that there was a large man standing outside, but without her glasses she couldn’t make out his face. She felt a horrid qualm of fear. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’

A man’s deep voice said irritably, ‘Open the door, can’t you? I’m not a burglar.’

She knew that voice. Mark Rayne. Her first thought was, He’s got the cassette. That’s why he’s here. Hope shot up like a thermometer plunged into hot water. She slipped off the chain and threw open the door. As the light from the hall fell on him she saw that he had changed out of his morning suit and was wearing jeans and a pullover.

He leaned closer and stared at her. ‘I’m looking for Anne Grey; I’ve got something for her.’ He patted his jumper as if expecting to find pockets there.

‘I’m Anne Grey,’ she said.

He peered closer, swaying slightly, and put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself. He shook his head. ‘Are you sure? You don’t look like her.’

‘I assure you I am,’ she said, and laughed. She realised that he might be a little drunk, but that didn’t matter beside the glorious fact that he probably had the cassette. ‘Won’t you come in? And then you can find—whatever it is you have for me.’ She mustn’t rush matters; he might get angry and go away.

He went on patting himself, feeling for non-existent pockets. ‘I know it’s here somewhere. I must have put it in my case.’ He turned round and walked rather unsteadily to his car, which was standing at the kerb. Anne pattered after him; she wasn’t going to let him get away until he had found what must be the cassette.

He opened the back door of the car and heaved a heavy suitcase along the seat. Balancing it on the edge, he began to fumble with its catch, muttering to himself.

Anne pulled the case away from him. ‘Let’s take it inside,’ she said firmly. ‘You can’t see what you’re doing out here.’

He seemed a little surprised but he let her carry the heavy case into the house and dump it on a chair in the sitting room. He followed her inside and stood staring at her in puzzlement. ‘I don’t think you are Anne Grey,’ he said, slowly and carefully. ‘She looked like a ghost—and you look like...’ He thought for a long time and then finished triumphantly, ‘Like Goldilocks.’ He reached out and touched a lock of golden hair, which was now hanging in a wavy mass to her shoulders. ‘Nice!’ he said.

Anne moved away quickly. Had she been quite mad to invite the man into the house at this time of night? She must find the cassette and then get rid of him.

‘Won’t you sit down,’ she said, ‘and let me open the case?’

He stared at her as if he still wasn’t sure who she was. ‘Thank you,’ he said politely, and collapsed backwards onto the large sofa. ‘Yes, by all means open it.’

She let him sit there while she managed to get the case open. It contained his morning suit, carelessly folded, three clean handkerchiefs, and a crumpled white shirt rolled round a pair of underpants. There was also shaving gear and a hairbrush and comb. She felt all round the edges of the case without success. As a last resort she examined the striped trousers. No large pockets in them! Then she held up the coat and found that it had an inside pocket which seemed to contain something bulky. Hardly daring to hope, she felt inside it—and drew out the missing cassette.

Anne couldn’t restrain a little whoop of pure joy and relief. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ she cried, looking at the man on the sofa. He was leaning back with his eyes closed. She shook his arm. ‘I’ve found it,’ she burbled.

He opened his eyes with an effort, mumbled, ‘Have you? Good,’ and then closed them again.

Anne regarded him doubtfully. He didn’t really look drunk, he looked absolutely exhausted. His face was colourless and there were deep dark smudges below his eyes. She would make some black coffee and then wake him up and somehow get him back in his car—although he really didn’t look as if he should be driving. Well, she’d have to see how things went.

While the kettle was boiling she took the cassette to the editing suite and placed it tenderly on the worktop. She’d run it through on the monitor to check up on it, even gloat a little, as soon as she’d got rid of Mark Rayne.

In the kitchen the kettle had boiled. Anne spooned coffee liberally into a mug, filled it and carried it back to the sitting room. In her absence the man had made himself comfortable. He was stretched out on the sofa, his long legs curled up like a child’s. He was breathing deeply and evenly, undoubtedly fast asleep. The thick black lashes that she had seen through the zoom lens rested on his cheekbones. His mouth, no longer held in a stern, tight line, was relaxed as he breathed deeply.

She put down the cup of coffee and went on staring at him. He really was fabulously good-looking. Anne’s mouth twitched into a soft smile—the smile of amused tenderness that she would bestow on any sleeping creature, human or not.

‘Yes,’ she said aloud. ‘You’re very appealing, no doubt. But you can’t stay here.’ She leaned forward and shouted, ‘Mr Rayne.’

No reply.

‘Mr Rayne, I’ve made some coffee. Wake up, can’t you?’ She shook his arm as hard as she could.

Silence, except for the faintest of grunts.

Anne frowned, perplexed. So—it was like that, was it? She couldn’t get rid of him unless she removed him bodily—which was impossible—or rang for the police—which was unthinkable.

She sighed. He wasn’t going to wake up for some time, and she did owe him a debt of gratitude for returning the cassette, however tardily. He might as well stay here and have his sleep out. She fetched a blanket and draped it over him. He didn’t stir when she pulled off his shoes. The suitcase lay on the chair, its contents hanging out. Well, he could pack that for himself when he left. He would probably wake some time in the night and let himself out.

She lit the table lamp and switched off the main light. Was there anything else? Oh, yes—his car. It had been left standing in the road, unlocked. Anne rushed out, holding her breath. There had been a car theft in this road only last week.

She breathed again when she saw that it was still there, with the keys hanging from the ignition. She regarded it doubtfully. Ought she to move it into the parking space at the back of the house? She’d never handled a powerful car like this in her life and the passage between the two houses was quite narrow. Better leave it where it was. There was probably some security gadget fitted. She locked the driver’s door and found that the other doors locked as well.

Taking the keys back to the house, she placed them on the low table by the sofa. Mark Rayne was even more deeply asleep. He looked very peaceful. Anne went out and closed the door. Now, at last, to watch the result of all her work this afternoon.

Fetching her glasses from the kitchen, she managed to perch them on her nose. She could see the monitor screen well enough if she didn’t move her bead. The recording proved to be superb—the best thing she’d ever done. Nothing of importance had been missed, the angles were just right and the lighting inside the church had been much better than Anne had expected. She ran it through to the end and shut off the monitor with a sigh of satisfaction. How truly terrible if she had actually lost it through her own carelessness! She felt a surge of gratitude to Mark Rayne for bringing it back to her.

Turning off the downstairs lights again, she listened for a moment outside the sitting-room door. There wasn’t a sound from inside. Well, let him enjoy his sleep, she thought, her mouth quirking into a soft smile.