• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

She shook her head. 'This is my first visit to Glenmore, but never mind that now. What happened back there on the mountain? Where did you get to?'

'I climbed the north face. The general idea was that I should be waiting at the summit cairn when you arrived.'

'Ah, I see now,' she said. 'You were caught in the mist.'

'For over an hour, while you kept on walking presumably?'

She nodded. 'And here we are. I was hoping you would get here eventually. I turned my ankle climbing the gate back there on the track.'

'Sorry I was delayed. I saw your light at the same time as our friend turned up.'

She smiled and shook her head. 'Poor Fergus.'

'Was that his name?'

'So he informed me. Fergus Munro. He also told me that I was trespassing and that his employer wouldn't like it--although he followed this with a suggestion that perhaps he didn't need to know.'

'But according to the notice on that gate back there, this is the Glenmore estate.'

'Which is owned by my step-father, Max Donner, the financier,' she said calmly. 'Perhaps you've heard of him?'

'I have indeed. But this raises an interesting situation. Friend Fergus is very probably hot-footing it to Glenmore House at this very moment with his tale of woe. I have a feeling we may expect company in the near future.'

'I sincerely hope so. I haven't the slightest intention of walking any further.'

'I wonder what your step-father will say to the unfortunate Fergus when he discovers who the mystery woman is?'

'I can't wait to see.'

Chavasse took off his raincoat and squatted in front of the fire, hands spread to its warmth and she leaned back in the chair, arms folded beneath her breasts, hair gleaming in the soft lamplight.

'How's your ankle?' he said.

'It could be worse.'

'Shall I take a look at it for you?'

'If you like.'

She peeled off her stocking with a complete lack of embarrassment, and presented a delicately arched foot for his inspection.

The sweep of that long, lovely leg, the curve of the thigh beneath the skirt took the breath out of him. He swallowed hard and glancing up saw the barely suppressed smile.

'Damn you, Asta Svensson,' he said with some passion. 'Play fair or you may get more than you bargained for.'

'Is that a promise?' she replied, the smile breaking through to the surface.

'I should put you over my knee. An attractive proposition, come to think of it.'

'Better and better. We Swedes are reputed to be terribly over-sexed, you know.'

He glanced up sharply and for the moment, her self-assurance seemed to desert her and she became simply a young, nineteen-year-old girl with a rather boyish charm. She smiled shyly, looking down at the hands, folded in her lap and in that one brief moment of revelation he knew she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

He tilted her chin and said wryly: 'You're very lovely, Asta Svensson. So lovely that I think I'd better get back to your foot without further delay.'

Her smile seemed to deepen, to become luminous and she no longer looked shy, but completely sure of herself. She leaned back in the old chair and raised her foot again and Chavasse looked at it, aware of her eyes on him.

There was a faint swelling above the ankle bone beneath a jagged scar. He probed it gently and nodded. 'I don't think it's much. How did you get the scar?'

'Skiing. There was a time when I thought I might make the Olympics.'

'Too bad.' He stood up and took a spare handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tweed jacket. 'I don't think it's much, but a cold-water bandage won't do any harm. I'll take the lamp if I may.'

He left her there in the firelight, went into the kitchen and soaked the handkerchief under the cold tap. When he returned, she was lying back in the chair, eyes closed. The moment he touched her foot, she opened them again.

'Tired?' Chavasse said as he bandaged the foot expertly.

She nodded. 'As the ticket collector said, it was a fair step.'

She mimicked him superbly and Chavasse chuckled. 'It was that