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Anne drank the last drops of her champagne and put the glass down on the empty plate between them. ‘What a lovely idea.’ She stood up. ‘Thank you for the sustenance and the kind thought, Mr...’
‘Rayne,’ he said. ‘Mark Rayne.’
As he rose she smiled up at him. He was very tall; if only he would smile he would be really handsome, she thought. She knew he could smile. The photograph in the newspaper had shown him smiling beatifically at his lovely fiancé. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t here with him that he looked so gloomy.
‘Well, thank you again, Mr Rayne,’ she said, turning to go.
‘It was the least I could do,’ he replied gravely.
There was a spring in Anne’s step as she hurried back into the marquee. She hated to be on bad terms with anyone, and Mark Rayne had apologised very handsomely even if he couldn’t manage a smile.
The bridal couple were no longer in the marquee; they must have gone into the house to change before leaving. Anne collected her camera and tripod and made her way round to the front of Sir William Brent’s impressive Neo-Gothic mansion. At the foot of a long flight of steps an open car, a Mercedes, was pulled up. Other expensive-looking cars lined the forecourt and the overflow was parked diagonally down the wide drive. She set up her tripod in a spot beside the long, shiny bonnet of the car and hoped for the best.
Very soon the guests began to drift out of the marquee and stand around the car and up the steps, but they were all too polite to push in front of her. It seemed a long wait, but at last the chatter died down and bags of confetti were produced as the small party from the house came down the steps. Anne swivelled her camera round and got a marvellous view of the bride, dressed now in a honey-coloured suit that matched her hair, which hung round her pretty face like a golden halo as it caught the sunlight. Her husband, in a lightweight suit, was beside her, and next to him the best man, Mark Rayne, with the parents and close relatives.
Anne felt rather absurdly conscious of him as he took his place on the bottom step, almost by her side. He looked down at her as she lifted her head for a moment and nodded. She would have liked to move away, but of course that wasn’t possible.
Confetti was falling like rain all over the car now. People were calling out, kissing, laughing, but at last the bridegroom helped his bride into the passenger seat of the car and climbed in behind the wheel. Anne kept her eyes glued to the camera. That was a most beautiful shot of the bride. She looked so blissfully happy as she lifted her face towards her new husband. Already Anne was composing the end of the video in her mind.
Then—suddenly—something hit her on the head, and she looked up, startled, and saw what had happened. The bride had thrown her bouquet high in the air and it had landed on—of all people—the woman taking the video. Anne clutched it, her cheeks scarlet, as everyone laughed. She caught a whiff of the lilies of the valley as she threw it back into the crowd.
She felt a touch on her arm and heard Mark Rayne murmur, close to her ear, ‘I noticed you were wearing a ring. That should speed matters up.’
She was disturbingly conscious of the feeling of his hand on her bare arm. He had beautiful hands, she noticed, the fingers strong and sensitive. She gave him a tremulous little smile before she turned back to her camera, and although he still wasn’t smiling she thought she detected a wicked glint in his dark eyes.
The car drew away to cheers and calls of good wishes and showers of confetti. Anne made her way hastily back to the marquee and packed her gear into the holdall. By the time the guests began to filter back, ready for more food and drink and socialising, she was on her way down the drive, making quickly for her car—and home.
She drove slowly along the country lanes. After a large wedding like this her head seemed full of moving pictures, and it took her a while to return to the real world. One picture kept coming back again and again—the face of Mark Rayne, the enigmatic best man. She would never see him again, except on video, when she edited the tapes, but it wasn’t a face she would easily forget.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS nearly nine o’clock and beginning to get dark when the blow fell. After a leisurely supper Anne was unpacking her holdall in the editing suite when the horrible fact emerged—cassette number two, the most important one, the one which held her recording of the heart of the wedding, was missing. A feverish search of every comer of the holdall confirmed the fact. She stared down at the worktop. Cassettes four, three and one were in order, but there was a gap where two should have been.
Don’t panic, she told herself. Think. Think. When did you take cassette two out of the camera and what did you do with it? She sank onto the stool and pressed a shaking hand to her forehead.
After the signing of the registry in the vestry, that was it. In a hurry to get down to the front of the church and record the bridal couple walking back down the aisle together, she had pulled the cassette out of the camera and slipped the next one in. It had been quite dark in her corner and she must have dropped cassette two on the floor instead of putting it back in the holdall, and later, when she’d been struggling to get her jacket free, she must have swept the cassette behind the pillar or under the choir stall. So—it must still be there, and all she had to do was drive back to the church and find it.
Another two hours’ driving! But it would be worth it—anything would be worth it if she could only lay her hands on precious cassette number two. Without it the video would be useless.
She had changed when she got home, into jeans and a cotton top, and now she hurried upstairs and pulled on a thick woollen jumper, swilled her face in cold water and went to get the car out again.
The church clock was striking ten when Anne reached Offleigh. The single streetlamp was situated in the main street of the village, some distance from the church. When she had parked her car and turned out the lights she had to wait for a moment to accustom her eyes to the darkness and then she found the front path and made her way to the porch. ‘Please let the church not be locked,’ she breathed.
She was fumbling with the heavy ring handle of the massive door when steps sounded behind her and the light of a torch shone round her feet. A gruff voice said, ‘Sorry, I’ve just come to lock up.’ Not the vicar’s voice. It must be the church warden.
Anne turned and the light of the torch fell on her face. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Could you wait for a few minutes? I was at the wedding this afternoon and I’ve lost something rather valuable. I know exactly where I dropped it, and if I could just have a chance to look round...’
He must have heard the desperation in her voice. He leaned nearer and looked into her face, and after a short time for consideration he said, ‘OK, come in. I’ll switch on the lights.’
‘Thank you,’ Anne whispered fervently. She scurried up the side-aisle to the place by the pillar where she had parked her gear. The church warden followed more sedately. He helped her to search while she explained the circumstances to him.
After ten minutes they had covered every square inch of the floor where the cassette might have fallen, but had drawn a blank. Anne felt like bursting into tears. ‘It isn’t here,’ she said in a wan voice.
The church warden agreed. ‘But the vicar might have it, miss. It might have been handed in to him.’
Anne clutched at the straw. ‘Where could I find him? Would you direct me to the vicarage?’
He shook his head. ‘He doesn’t live in the village. He lives in Lifton-on-the-Hill. He has to look after both parishes. And there won’t be any services here tomorrow.’
‘I see,’ Anne said in a defeated voice. ‘Well, thank you very much; you’ve been very helpful.’ She got back into the car as the elderly man switched off the church lights and ambled round to the side-door.
Anne drove a short way out of the village and stopped to think. Should she drive out to Lifton-on-the-Hill now? It must be over ten miles away, on the Stow road. It would be nearly eleven o’clock by the time she got there, and it would probably mean knocking up the vicar and getting him out of bed. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Putting the car into gear, she headed once more for home.
The journey back seemed to take hours as she stared ahead at the road and refused to let herself consider what it would mean if she had really lost the cassette. But once in the house the emptiness closed round her and panic stirred, giving her a hollow feeling inside. She relied mainly on recommendations from satisfied clients, and had had high hopes of doing a good job for the influential Brent family. Things soon got around—negative as well as positive. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have any dealings with Anne Grey—she’s most unreliable.’ She could almost hear the words already.
She had to face the fact that she might have lost the cassette for good. Perhaps one of the cleaners had thrown it into a rubbish bag, or a choirboy had picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. To a boy any video was a video and might be interesting. Anne shivered. The house felt very cold. She made a pot of strong tea—the panacea for all ills—and drank it sitting in the kitchen.
She tried to cheer herself up. There was still the vicar. She could find him tomorrow morning, and surely he would have the cassette? As she drank the tea she glanced wearily at her watch. She might as well go to bed; there was nothing else to do tonight.
She emptied the teapot and her glasses fell off into the sink. Picking them out, she saw that one of the side pieces had come off. A hasty search in the sink revealed the fact that the tiny screw had vanished—probably down the plughole. Tears of frustration came into her eyes at this final annoyance. This was definitely not her day. Leaving the glasses on the kitchen table to be dealt with tomorrow, she switched off the lights and started to climb the stairs, her head drooping.
She was halfway up when the front doorbell rang shrilly. Her heart thudded. Who could it possibly be at this hour? Holding onto the banister, she waited, hardly daring to breathe. But the bell rang again, and then again. Anne crept downstairs and across the hall, switching on the light. Without removing the chain she opened the door a crack and peered round it.
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.
As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom she was suddenly overcome with tiredness. It had been a gruelling day, one way or another. She washed her face, cleaned her teeth and, standing by the bed, wondered for a moment whether she should keep her clothes on. After all, there was a strange man sleeping in the sitting room. Anne shrugged. She was almost sure he didn’t present a threat. But when she had pulled off her jeans and top and put her nightdress on she went across the room and locked the door. She climbed into bed and was fast asleep within five minutes.
Anne woke later than usual. The first thing she did was cross the room, pull back the curtains and look down into the road. Yes, the green car was still there, steaming gently as the sun dispersed the morning dew from its long, sleek bonnet. She was annoyed to find that her heart was beating faster than usual.
She didn’t have to worry about what the neighbours might think if they saw a strange man leaving her house with a suitcase early in the morning. Most of the houses in the road had been made into flats, and there was such a rapid turnover of occupants that she never had time to get to know anyone. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was how she was going to deal with Mark Rayne.
It was such a very odd situation. If he had been a man she knew, she could have turned the whole thing into an amusing episode and they would have laughed together and avoided any awkwardness. But she hadn’t even seen him smile yet. She wondered if he would remember saying that she looked like Goldilocks. Probably not. It had seemed out of character.
She wasn’t at all sure why she chose to wear a golden yellow top with her jeans this morning. Probably because it was her favourite and she needed something to boost her courage when she went down to deal with her unconventional visitor.
When she opened the sitting-room door she was relieved to find that he was awake. He had put on his shoes and the blanket was folded neatly on the sofa. He was in the process of trying to get his case locked and looked round quickly when he heard her come in. She decided to play it lightly, even if he didn’t respond. She smiled at him. ‘Good morning, Mr Rayne. Sorry you didn’t have a more comfortable bed.’
He straightened his long body. ‘I really am desperately sorry. I feel ashamed of myself for passing out on you like I must have done. A couple of whiskies with friends at my hotel on top of the champagne and having been driving for about thirty-six hours was the reason, if not the excuse. I hope your family aren’t thinking of handing me over to the police. Perhaps I could see your mother and apologise to her, as well as to you.’
‘My parents are both dead. There’s only me,’ Anne said simply.
He looked hard at her with a lift of his thick dark brows. ‘Do you mean to say you live alone in the house? And you allowed me to stay here all night?’
She laughed. ‘I didn’t have much choice. You were sleeping the sleep of the—what is it?—the just or the unjust? Anyway, you were immovable. You were in no fit state to drive either. Also, I felt eternally grateful to you for bringing the cassette. So, all things considered, what would you have expected me to do?’
‘You could have rung the police,’ he suggested. ‘Although,’ he added quite seriously, ‘your sofa was much more comfortable than a cell in the police station, I’m sure.’ He was looking hard at her, but still he didn’t smile. ‘May I ask who you are?’
Anne gasped in surprise. ‘I’m Anne Grey, of course. Don’t you remember me from the wedding?’
He shook his head. ‘You look so very different. But I must believe it if you tell me so.’
Nothing about Goldilocks this morning! Anne wanted to giggle.
He turned back to struggle with the lock of the case again. Anne said, ‘Let me help. I’m afraid I had to pull things out last night when I was searching for the cassette.’
She took out the morning coat and refolded it carefully. She put it back and her hand touched his as he held the large case steady while she got the lid shut. She drew in a quick breath as a thrill of electricity passed up her arm. She had often read about this sudden sexual attraction that could pass between two complete strangers, but had never quite believed it could happen. She forced down the lid of the case and held it while he snapped the locks.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. But she could feel that they were looking steadily at her. She wished he would laugh, or even smile—anything to break the strange awkwardness that had suddenly sprung up between them.
At last he said, ‘Well, I’ll relieve you of my company, and thanks again for your kindness.’ He carried the case into the hall.
Suddenly Anne knew that she didn’t want him to go yet. She wanted to find out more about him. ‘Have you far to drive?’ she asked.
The long mouth drew into a rueful grimace. ‘About three hundred miles.’
‘Oh, dear, then you must let me make you a cup of coffee before you go,’ she said quickly. ‘If you’d like to wash, the cloakroom is just down the passage. Come into the kitchen when you’re ready.’ She didn’t give him time to refuse. She hurried into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. She made two mugs of coffee and popped two pieces of bread into the toaster, laying butter and marmalade on the table with plates and knives.
A few minutes later Mark Rayne joined her. ‘I feel more human now,’ he said. He had evidently put his head under the tap; his black hair was wet and gleaming. He ran a hand over his chin. ‘I would have had a shave, in your honour, but I couldn’t face the hassle of getting the case opened and closed again, so please forgive me if I look like a pirate.’ He took the chair which Anne indicated.
She put a mug of coffee before him and said, ‘Don’t let that worry you. I broke my glasses last night so I can’t see you properly.’ She wished she could see his expression, but without her glasses his face was blurred.
At last he said, ‘That’s what it is. You were wearing glasses yesterday—and your hair was different, surely?’
She shook out her mop of gold curls. ‘I always wear it tied back when I’m working, and I always wear dark clothes so that I can fade into the background.’
‘I see,’ he said. ‘I was conscious of a small grey ghost flitting about the church.’ She could almost imagine he was smiling. But his tone was serious again as he said, ‘It’s really very kind of you to feed me like this, especially when I put you to such trouble last night.’ He spread marmalade on a piece of toast. ‘Will you give my apologies to your fiancé when you tell him? I wish I could see him myself to explain.’
Anne looked down at the ring on her left hand, and for a moment she wondered whether to tell this man that her engagement had been ended months ago, but she couldn’t do that without telling him why the ring was still on her finger. So she said lightly, ‘Oh, Keith would understand; he’s abroad at present.’
Mark Rayne was looking hard at her with a slight frown. ‘I keep wondering why you’re living alone in this big house. Surely it’s too large for one small girl? Or is that a tactless remark?’ he added hastily.
She felt herself flush very slightly. She supposed it might be taken for granted, in this day and age, that she and her fiancé should be living together. She didn’t quite know why she should be so eager to dispel that idea from his mind. ‘It’s my family home. I live quite alone here. My mother died soon after I was born and my father died only last month,’ she said quietly. She had to turn her face away quickly to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes; she hadn’t yet got over Daddy’s death. ‘Of course it’s too big for me. I shall have to try my luck in the house market soon, I suppose.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, perhaps you should do that,’ he said gravely. He finished his coffee and the last piece of toast and stood up. ‘Well, mind you don’t let in any more wandering good-for-nothings to disturb you.’
‘I would let anyone in if they brought me back something valuable that I’d lost,’ she said, quite seriously.
