CATHERINE GEORGE - No More Secrets

Afterwards, still hungry but determined to ignore it, Kate took the pins out of her hair, ran a bath and sank into it with a sigh of relief as she settled down to read. This was another advantage of having a flat to herself. In Putney someone had always banged on the door if she took longer than a few minutes over a bath.

Eventually, yawning, she washed her hair, wrapped herself in the new yellow towelling robe her mother had given her for Christmas, and went back to the sitting room to dry her hair while she finished the newest best-seller on display at Hardacres.

By eleven Kate’s long dark hair was dry enough to let her go to bed. She fell asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow, then woke later with a start, her heart beating rapidly. She lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Someone was moving about downstairs. Her instinct was to pull the covers over her ears and hope the burglar would go away. But he was stealing Mrs Beaumont’s treasures. Worse still, he might come upstairs for more.

She slid stealthily out of bed, took a heavy wooden book-end from a shelf, then tiptoed out onto the landing. The burglar was making no attempt to be quiet, she noted, shivering, and, taking a deep breath, she crept down, missile at the ready. As she reached the bend in the stairs a man emerged from Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room, and, giving herself no time to think, Kate let fly with the book-end and caught him fair and square on the temple. The man dropped like a stone to the Persian carpet, and lay still.

Kate gave a squawk of horror and ran to him, falling on her knees beside the motionless figure. She seized his wrist, searching wildly for his pulse. Relief flooded her as it throbbed reassuringly against her fingers. She stared down at him in dismay, wondering what on earth to do. He was young, dark and sharp-featured, and remarkably well dressed for a burglar. And he wasn’t dead. Something he confirmed by opening dazed dark eyes to stare into her tense face.

‘Don’t move,’ she ordered in a shaking voice. ‘Stay where you are. I’ve called the police.’

‘What the hell did you hit me with?’ he demanded irritably, struggling up despite her efforts to prevent him. ‘Have I been out long?’

‘Ten minutes,’ lied Kate. ‘Stay where you are!’

To her astonishment he began to laugh.

‘You won’t find it so funny when the police come!’ she snapped furiously. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to rob an elderly lady —

‘I wasn’t robbing her—I’m trying to find her glasses,’ he said unsteadily, taking the wind out of Kate’s sails. ‘My name’s Daniel Beaumont. Grandson of your landlady,’ he added.

‘How do I know?’ she demanded fiercely, then picked up the book-end menacingly as he put a hand in his breast pocket.

‘Don’t hit me again — please,’ he pleaded, putting up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m unarmed, I swear. If you’ll let me take out my wallet I can prove my identity.’

‘All right,’ she conceded. ‘But no tricks.’

‘Would I dare?’ He winced, fingering his temple with one hand as he withdrew his wallet and tossed it over to her.

Kate flipped it open, and saw an identity card for the firm of Beaumont Electronics, with a photograph of the intruder, and the name Daniel Beaumont underneath it. Since there were also several credit cards and a business card for confirmation, she put the wallet down on the hall table and placed the book-end beside it, furiously embarrassed.

‘You can get up now,’ she said tartly.

Daniel Beaumont scrambled to his feet, a hand to his head. ‘I really am very sorry for giving you a fright. I clean forgot Grandma had let the upper floor. The house was in darkness so I just used Dad’s key and came to search for her glasses. I’m to post them on to Bath in the morning.’

‘Did you have to come here at this time of night?’ demanded Kate, unappeased.

‘I had dinner with a friend and saw her home first.’ He swayed a little. ‘Look, would you mind if I sat down for a bit?’

Kate, secretly filled with remorse, took his arm and helped him into Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room. ‘All right. Sit down on the sofa there for a minute.’

‘Brandy?’ he said hopefully.

‘Certainly not. You might be concussed.’ She eyed him uncertainly. ‘In fact, perhaps you ought to see a doctor, or go to the local casualty department.’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘A hot cup of tea would be nice. Then I’ll drive home and leave you in peace.’

Something in his bright, dark eyes reminded Kate that her only garment was a nightgown—dark green, winter-weight and modestly voluminous, but still a nightgown.

‘Sit still,’ she ordered, and ran upstairs, put a kettle on to boil, and wrapped herself in her yellow robe. More shaken by the episode than she wanted to admit, she thrust her feet into espadrilles then set a tray with cups and for once made tea properly in a pot. She added sugar, milk, then took the tray downstairs to Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room and put it down on a small table. Daniel Beaumont watched her, his eyes bright in his pale face, one of them showing signs of a bruise, courtesy of the book-end.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have a black eye,’ said Kate without sympathy. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Both, please.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘No one will believe I was mugged by a girl.’

She handed him a cup and saucer, then poured tea for herself and perched on the edge of an armchair opposite him. ‘Mr Beaumont—’

‘My name’s Dan,’ he interrupted. ‘Won’t you tell me yours?’

‘Kate Harker. I’m sorry I hit you, but under the circumstances —’

‘You had every right,’ he assured her. ‘You’re a plucky girl, Kate Harker. But next time just ring the police. Don’t come investigating yourself.’

‘I lied about the police,’ she confessed. ‘I didn’t have time to call them.’

‘I know. I looked at my watch. I was only out for a second or two.’ He drained his cup, looking rather better. ‘Is there more, please?’

Kate refilled his cup, then sat back. ‘Your grandmother talks about you. But I took it for granted you were a schoolboy.’

The corners of his wide, expressive mouth went down, ‘Grandma tends to forget I’m a responsible adult now—’

‘I wonder why,’ said Kate drily, and he grinned.

‘Touché.’ He looked up as the clock in the hall struck one. ‘Hell, I’m sorry. You must be tired. I’ll go.’ He stood up, swayed, then smiled bravely. ‘There. Steady as a rock.’

Kate shook her head. ‘Sit down again. I’ll ring for a taxi.’

Dan Beaumont sat down so promptly that Kate suspected he felt far less chipper than he was making out. Annoyed because she felt guilty, she went to the telephone in the hall and rang an all-night taxi firm.

‘Ten minutes,’ she announced, returning to her uninvited visitor, who used the time profitably by telling her that he worked in his father’s electronics firm.

‘Dad runs the shooting match but I sell the product. I’m the marketing man.’

Kate could well believe it. Even on such short acquaintance Dan Beaumont was plainly the type to sell snowballs to an Eskimo.

‘So reciprocate,’ he demanded. ‘What do you do, Kate Harker?’

‘Sell books at Hardacres,’ she replied, looking up with relief at a ring on the doorbell. ‘Right, here’s your lift home.’

Dan Beaumont rose to his feet, swayed a little, and Kate rushed to take his arm. He leaned on her heavily as she supported him to the door, then took her breath away by planting a swift kiss on her mouth before sprinting down the path with no trace of unsteadiness. She glared from the doorway as he saluted smartly, grinning all over his thin, confident face as he jumped in the cab.