Midnight Never Comes - Jack Higgins [24]
The track which followed the lochside was dry and dusty and hard to the feet. After a while, she turned a bend and found her way barred by a five-barred gate, a wire fence running into the bracken on either side.
The notice said, Keep Out--Glenmore Estate--Private, and the gate was padlocked. She hoisted herself over, surprised at the effort it took, slipped and fell on the other side and a sudden stab of pain in her right ankle told her that she had turned it.
She got to her feet and started to walk again, limping heavily, and as she turned a curve in the glen she saw a small hunting lodge in a green loop of grass beside the loch. The door was locked, but when she went round to the rear, a window stood an inch or two ajar. She opened it without difficulty, pulled up her skirt and climbed over the sill.
When she struck a match she found herself standing in a small, well-fitted kitchen which, from the look of it, had been added to the main building only recently. There was a calor gas stove in one corner, an oil lamp on a bench beside it. She lit the lamp expertly, remembering with a strange nostalgia, holidays on her grandmother's farm on Lake Siljah as a little girl and went into the other room.
It was adequately furnished and quite comfortable in spite of the whitewashed walls and polished wood floor. A fire was laid on the stone hearth. She put a match to it, then sat in one of the wing-backed chairs and rested her right leg on a stool.
The dry wood flared up quickly. She added pine logs from the stack at the side of the hearth and suddenly she was warm again and her ankle seemed to have eased. She took off her leather jacket, hung it over the back of her chair and lit a cigarette, pausing at the alien sound in the distance.
Within a moment or two she knew what it was--a vehicle of some sort being driven surprisingly fast considering the conditions. She sat there waiting and then the noise of it seemed to fill the night and it braked to a halt outside. There was a quick step, the rattle of a key in the lock and the door was flung open.
The man who stood there was of medium height with a weak, sullen face and badly needed a shave. He wore a shabby tweed suit that was a size too large for him and yellow hair poked untidily from beneath the tweed cap.
He held a double-barrelled shotgun in both hands, and lowered it slowly, astonishment on his face. 'Would ye look at that now?'
Asta returned his gaze calmly. 'What do you want?'
'What do I want?' He laughed harshly. 'Now that's a good one. You're trespassing, did you know that? And how the hell did you get in here anyway?'
'Through the kitchen window.'
He shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips quickly, his eyes on her legs, on the skirt that was rucked up above her knees.
'I don't think my boss would like that at all. He's very particular about things like that. I mean, if he knew, he might even consider calling in the police.'
His eyes carried their own message and she took her foot off the stool and pulled down her skirt. 'I turned my ankle back there on the track somewhere. I've just come over Ben Breac.'
'Oh, a hiker? That's nice.'
Asta took a deep breath and stood up, not in the least afraid. 'It's lucky you came. You'll be able to give me a lift, won't you?'
He reached out, clutching at her arm. 'That depends now, doesn't it?'
She was tired and the blotched whisky face was suddenly completely repulsive. 'What's your name?'
He grinned. 'That's more friendly. It's Fergus--Fergus Munro.'
She pulled her arm free and sent him staggering with a vigorous shove of both hands.
'Then don't be stupid, Fergus Munro.'
For a moment he gaped in astonishment and then anger twisted his mouth. He dropped the shotgun and grabbed at her as she turned away, fingers hooking into the neck of her blouse, the thin material ripping along the seam of one shoulder.
She