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She tiptoed back out to the living-room and plumped herself down on the high, polished-cotton couch, pleased that it was long enough for her to stretch out full-length. There was also an easy-chair, a large bean-bag and four spindle-backed chairs around the oval wooden dining-table to choose from. At home it was a battle for the best sitting space in the evenings. A wooden roll-topped desk on which Anne had set her typewriter, a small coffee-table and a large bookcase were the only other furnishings in the room apart from a few scattered rugs on the bare floorboards.
The man from the foundation had been slightly apologetic that there was no television but Anne didn’t mind. She had her small music-centre and anyway she intended to be too busy to be a mere spectator of life from now on. There was no telephone either, which had given her a few qualms at first, but there was a phone box just up the street and she could appreciate that the usual grant recipients preferred to be incommunicado while they were beavering over their manuscripts.
She lay on the couch, her couch, listening to the muted sounds of the city, then she got up, dissatisfied, and dragged the heavy piece of furniture over to the arched windows. She had earlier opened the curved upper portions of the window with the long wooden window-hook and now she folded back the lower, rectangular segments. With the couch angled just right she could lie on it and look out at the last orange glow of the sun as it curtsied behind the jumble of city buildings. As the twilight turned to dusk she was able to see the lights burning at the entrance to the art school, and behind it in the multi-storeyed school of engineering. Across the road were the other main buildings, the library and theatre and administration blocks. Soon she would be a part of the stream of students that came and went each day from that campus city-within-a-city.
Fired with a fresh wave of enthusiasm, Anne made herself a cup of tea and got out the course leaflets and introductory material that the university had sent her when she had enrolled in her language courses. She had several days to familiarise herself with the city and make arrangements for Ivan’s day-care before orientation week started, but she intended to be well-prepared for her first foray into higher education. She had already purchased some of the basic required texts and she added them to the little pile and made herself comfortable on the couch.
She was reading about the gender endings of Russian nouns when the pendent lights overhead flickered once and then went out.
The dark wasn’t complete because of the street-lighting outside but it was enough to disorientate Anne as she tried to negotiate the shadowy loft, trying to remember if the man from the foundation had mentioned a fuse-box. She checked the refrigerator, just to make sure that it wasn’t just the light bulbs that had blown, but the light inside wasn’t operating either so she began opening cupboards and muttering to herself when the logical places didn’t yield anything that looked like a junctionbox.
The longer she searched, the more unpalatable became the most sensible solution to her problem. She could just go to bed and deal with it in the morning, of course, but she wouldn’t have hot water again until the following evening if the mains switch wasn’t re-set before morning. Maybe it was more than just her own problem anyway.
She cheered up at the thought that Hunter Lewis’s electricity might have gone off as well. A trouble shared was a trouble halved, and he wouldn’t be able to blame her if the whole floor was out.
She crept into the bedroom to listen to Ivan’s steady little snore, and frowned as she heard the tap-tap and the music still filtering through the wall.
Oh, well, at least she knew he was at home and still awake!
But in no better a mood, she realised five minutes later when he flung open his door and glared at her.
No wonder his door was so battered; he must be hell on joinery! she thought to herself as she smiled hopefully at him in the dimly lit passageway.
‘I wonder if you could help me—?’
‘No.’
‘My electricity has gone off and I don’t know where the fuse-box is located,’ she continued calmly as if he hadn’t spoken.
‘God defend me from helpless women!’ he said through his teeth.
‘Why, are you too feeble to defend yourself?’
‘Very funny!
‘Then why aren’t you smiling?’ She threw up a hand. ‘No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You smiled once and the sky fell on you. Well, Chicken Little, you can stop panicking now. All I want is a light and the fuse-box.’
‘And fuse-wire, and a screwdriver, and—’
‘Are you naturally this obnoxious, or is it something you’ve specially trained for?’
‘Look, lady, I didn’t ask you to come thumping on my door—’
‘I didn’t ask you to come thumping at mine either, Mr Lewis, but you did. So we’re even. Now, are you capable of answering one simple question without turning it into a tiresome lecture? Do you know where the fuse-box for my apartment is located?’
For an answer he shut the door in her face and she was just about to scream it down when he reopened it carrying a small toolkit. He looked down at her furiously flushed face, small clenched fists and bare toes curled with rage and, wonder of wonders, produced a slight smile that bracketed the rectangular mouth with deep lines.
‘Temper, temper!’
‘You can talk!’ she said tartly, fascinated in spite of herself. He didn’t look all that much different when he smiled, she realised in amusement. He still looked broodingly dangerous, his black eyes smouldering with hostility and suspicion, their hooded lids giving them a predatory quality.
He didn’t answer, turning his back and walking towards the stairs. Anne got the impression that he did that a lot—turned his back on people.
At the head of the main flight of wooden stairs a sensor turned on a light on the first landing down, revealing a small cupboard in the wall which proved to contain odds and ends of tools and cleaning equipment—and fuse-boxes numbered for both apartments.
‘Thank you.’ Anne waited for him to get out of the way. ‘Excuse me.’ She tapped him on the shoulder as he pulled out the rectangular fuses, checking them. Her finger practically bounced off the armoured muscle. Anne’s four brothers were well-built—even Mike who was still only fourteen was much bigger than she was—so she wasn’t usually impressed by male bulk, but this one was built like a tank.
‘Hold this.’
She ignored the screwdriver.
‘Look, Mr Lewis, I do know how to change a fuse—’
‘Hold this.’
‘No.’
He turned his head. In profile his nose looked every bit as arrogantly prominent as the rest of him. ‘Haven’t you ever been told not to look a gift-horse in the mouth?’
Her eyes shifted to his wide, straight mouth and for no particular reason she felt herself flushing.
‘I’ve also been warned about Greeks bearing gifts,’ she said hurriedly.
‘I’m not Greek,’ he commented, tucking the screwdriver between his teeth and turning back to his task.
‘You’re not a horse either.’ Except maybe the rear end of one! she added silently. ‘If you’ll just step aside I’ll handle my own problems.’
‘And risk you botching it up so you have to come simpering back to my door again? No, thanks.’
‘I’ve never simpered in my life!’ she fumed, eyeing the stiched denim pockets below the black leather belt. One good, hard kick to that tightly packed rear and she would feel a whole lot better.
‘Don’t even think about it, country girl. I’m not only bigger than you, I’m faster.’
He hadn’t even looked around and she was furious at him for guessing what she was thinking, as well as for that mocking dig about her origins. What chance had she to hide anything if he had such acutely perceptive instincts?
‘Yes—at jumping to conclusions. Tell me, what brought on this powerful paranoia you have regarding women? I can’t figure out why you think you’re such an irresistible dish that you have to warn off total strangers. As a “country girl” I’ve seen plenty of beef on the hoof and, believe me, you’re over-pricing yourself.’
He snapped the repaired fuse back into place and depressed the trip-switch before he backed out of the cupboard, forcing her to retreat. ‘That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day.’
They were back to mouths again. Now he had turned and was looking at hers and she tightened it deliberately, knowing that her full lower lip tended to give a false impression of sultriness.
‘Is that a threat?’ She bristled under the insolent black stare.
‘More in the nature of kindly advice.’
‘Kindly!’ she snorted. ‘You?’
‘Don’t try and provoke me more than you already have, Miss Tremaine,’ he drawled in that aggravatingly warm voice that was so at odds with his manner. ‘I suppose I’d better check that everything is working…’
Before she realised what he had meant he was up the stairs and heading towards her half-open door. His boast about moving fast hadn’t been idle. Frantically trying to remember whether she had tidied everything away after putting Ivan to bed, Anne flew up after him, and nipped in front just in time to bar his entry with one slender arm across the doorway.
‘The lights are on so obviously everything’s OK,’ she said breathlessly, trying to act casually as his mo- mentum brought his chest up against her restraining arm. He froze and she smiled brilliantly at him. ‘Thank you ever so much for your help,’ she gushed. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
He was looking at her oddly, through thoughtfully narrowed eyes, and she instantly realised that she was overdoing the gratitude. After the scathing comments she had just flung at him he was bound to be suspicious of such a sudden volte face. ‘You can go back to—er—whatever you were doing now,’ she urged more calmly. ‘I don’t want to put you to any more trouble…’
To her dismay he shrugged. ‘No trouble.’ He leaned forward as he spoke and she felt the straining pressure of that deep chest against her upper arm.
‘No, really, there’s no need!’ she squeaked desperately as he lifted a big hand and effortlessly brushed her re- straining limb aside.
Three steps into the room he stopped, crossing his hands over his chest as he slowly surveyed the territory. Coming up beside him, Anne was relieved to see that there was nothing untoward in the scene. Relief brought back her courage. ‘Satisfied?’ she demanded defiantly.
‘At the very least, from your state of guilty panic, I expected to find an orgy going on in here,’ he mur- mured, confirming her opinion of his acumen. Worse than a nosy neighbour was a suspicious one who could read your mind like a book!
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’
‘Oh, you haven’t disappointed me, Miss Tremaine. My expectations of you aren’t high enough for that to be possible. I expect the worst, and if you don’t oblige then I can only be pleasantly surprised.’
‘What a ghastly philosophy of life!’ Anne stared at him disapprovingly. ‘No wonder you’re so bad-tempered. So would I be if I went around in a constant state of gloomy pessimism.’
‘Yes, I can see that you’re one of life’s noisy optimists,’ he said drily. ‘Relentlessly determined to enjoy yourself at all costs.’
‘Only a pessimist could make optimism sound depressing,’ was Anne’s tart reply. ‘And one person’s noise is music to another person’s ears.’
‘I’m a realist, not a pessimist, but we won’t get into an argument about it.’
‘Why not? Afraid you’d lose?’
‘I have better things to do with my time than argue semantics with starry-eyed Lolitas—’
‘Lolita! I’ll have you know I’m twenty—’ She stopped herself just in time and added haughtily, ‘I’m older than I look and I was never starry-eyed. Now that you’ve assured yourself you’re not missing out on an orgy, perhaps you’ll finally go back to where you belong.’
He gave her a small, ironic inclination of his head. ‘Ah, would that I knew where that was…’
She almost softened, intrigued by that weary, cryptic murmur, except that she saw the deep, hooded gleam in his eyes and suddenly knew that he was playing on her compassion deliberately, slyly proving his point about her unsophisticated gullibility.
‘Try hell,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’m sure people often direct you that way.’
A startled stillness gripped his expression, then he threw back his head and laughed, the warm sound rising richly to the high, sloping rafters. His eyes slitted and all the brooding lines of his face seemed to lift with the upward curve of his mouth. She had certainly been right about his handsomeness when he wasn’t scowling. Suddenly his cynical suspicion of a strange woman invading his personal space didn’t seem quite so untenable.
‘I don’t know what you’re laughing at—it wasn’t a compliment,’ she pointed out. ‘You know, for someone so inordinately keen to be left alone you’re singularly difficult to get rid of!’
His laughter ended as abruptly as it had begun and he gave her a slow, measuring look as he began to saunter towards the door in his own sweet time. ‘Such big, pompous words for such a little country girl.’
‘Size and geographical origin has nothing whatever to do with intelligence,’ she said icily. ‘And I’m a woman, not a girl.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘But not by you!’
This time she got to shut the door smartly in his face, although her satisfaction was somewhat dimmed by the memory of that last, grimly taunting smile.
It seemed to say that Hunter Lewis would see whatever he wanted to see, whenever he damned well wanted to see it.
She would just have to keep well out of his way and make sure he never got the opportunity.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5909ac6f-c767-52dc-a09e-1f2ec51c694b)
‘I THINK they should call it disorientation week!’ Anne groaned as she collapsed with her small backpack on to a seat in the university quad.
‘Decided to give up and go home to the farm?’ grinned the plump blonde already sitting there as she carefully added a dollop of cream from her doughnut to a paper cup of coffee.
‘Are you kidding? I’m having a great time!’ Anne rallied. ‘It’s just taking me longer than I thought to find my way around this maze.’
She stretched out her legs in their age-softened jeans, enjoying the cool breeze playing about the loose neckline of the white shirt that Mike had grown out of six months ago. It had been part of the dress uniform at her brother’s school but her mother had added a jaunty feminine touch with embroidery along the pocket and collar. With sleeves rolled up and shirt-tails hanging out Anne had felt confident of blending in with her fellow students, despite the fact that she was older than most of the other first-years.
‘Don’t worry, even second-year students like me still get lost sometimes,’ Rachel Blake told her sympathetically. She had cheerfully admitted to being a student dilettante whose wealthy parents could afford for her to dabble at university for as long as it took her to get a degree—any degree.
To Anne, who loved to study but had to watch every cent of expenditure, it sounded like an existence to be envied, and yet she didn’t. Such aimlessness was a waste of time and effort and Anne didn’t want to waste a single moment of her time at university. Her aim was to gain her degree in the shortest possible time without overloading herself to the point where she didn’t have enough free time to earn the extra money essential to the continuation of her studies. After that, the world was her oyster!
‘At least you have the stamina for all the trekking about we have to do,’ Rachel added, with a mocking glance down at her own full figure. ‘You country girls probably have the strength of marathon runners from chasing all those sheep up and down the alps.’
Anne grinned. ‘Our farm’s nowhere near the Southern Alps and the dogs did all the running. I just leaned on the gates and whistled.’
Her new friend’s use of the phrase ‘country girl’ sent a small frisson up her spine. In the past two weeks she had seen very little of her surly neighbour, mainly be- cause she had adopted a policy of active avoidance. Apart from the occasional thunderous knocking on the wall whenever she forgot herself and played her tapes a little too loud, or to cover one of Ivan’s rare bouts of crying, he was just as scrupulous at avoiding contact.
Whatever it was that Hunter Lewis did for a living, his hours seemed to be erratic, so that it was no easy task to work out a schedule by which she could be sure of missing him whenever she ventured out. However, an ear to her bedroom wall was usually enough to ascertain if he was at home and therefore unlikely to be encoun- tered on the stairs. Coming back in she just had to keep a sharp look-out and take her chances. Every time she went up or down the stairs it was an adventure, and her heart pounded in her throat with nervous apprehension.
‘So…how’s the rest of your lecture schedule shaping up? I can’t believe you’re taking Japanese and Russian. One language at a time is enough for most of us!’
Anne shrugged. ‘I’ve already done basic correspondence courses in them so it won’t be too much of a shock. I used to love making up and solving codes and cryptograms when I was a kid. I even used to invent languages with proper alphabets and rules of grammar…put the whole works down in little notebooks. It’s just something that I’m good at.’
‘Inventing grammar’? Now I know you’re weird.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Most of us spend our childhood trying to avoid having to write any grammar! Your teachers must have loved you. So…what do you think of your lecturers so far?’
‘They seem OK.’ It was an understatement. Just to be at university was wonderful and Anne knew she was seeing everything through rose-coloured spectacles.
‘Lucky you. I’ve got some killers from last year. Him for example.’ She screwed up her face and inclined her head at one of the figures crossing the quad. ‘Gorgeous bod, personality of Dracula. You know, there are poor souls who actually take political studies because they think it’s going to be an easy option. Big mistake. The drop-out rate in his class is fierce. He has a fiendish temper and he just piles on the assignments!’
‘So how come you’re still taking it, then? Can’t resist the gorgeous bod?’ teased Anne with a smile as she casually scanned the quad.
‘I discovered I’m actually quite good at it,’ admitted Rachel sheepishly, making Anne laugh. ‘I know, I know…it shocked me even more than it did Professor Lewis. He thought I was just another blonde bimbo looking to plug a hole in my schedule—practically shredded me to pieces that first semester. The Pit Bull, I call him…let him scent a weakness and those big jaws just go chomp!’
Anne wasn’t listening. She had spotted him at the exact moment that Rachel had mentioned his name. He was walking towards them at an oblique angle but there was no mistaking that tight, impatient stride or the saturnine expression. He was wearing a sports jacket over dark trousers and pale shirt and tie, and was carrying a bulging leather briefcase.
‘Professor Lewis? Professor Hunter Lewis?’ she said hollowly, hoping against hope that it was merely a ghastly coincidence.
‘Yeah. You know him?’
‘He’s a lecturer here?’
