Breaking Away. PENNY JORDAN

have a key here.’

      Neither of them heard someone also enter the room, but as Trixie furrowed her forehead and then said doubtfully, ‘I don’t know anything about it. I’ll have to ask Rigg.’

      Then an all-too-familiar male voice sent shivers of despair racing down Harriet’s spine as it enquired dulcetly, ‘You’ll have to ask me what, Trixie?’

      Without intending to, Harriet swung round towards the door, and suffered a heart-shaking jolt of sensation as she stared at the man standing there. He seemed familiar and yet almost totally unfamiliar in his formal business suit and immaculate white shirt.

      The dark hair, no longer damp and clinging to his scalp but well cut and brushed, seemed to accentuate the maleness of a face which in the daylight she could see appeared to be almost carved in deep lines of cynicism.

      ‘It’s Harriet,’ Trixie told him. ‘She’s locked herself out of the cottage and she thought we might have a spare key.’

      For a moment, from the dismissive way his glance flicked over her and then returned with hard intent to his niece, Harriet thought that he had not after all recognised her.

      She was surprised by the strength of her chagrin that he, who had made such a dangerously lasting impression on her, had apparently no remembrance of her whatsoever.

      ‘Try for a slightly more logical explanation, Trixie,’ he suggested calmly. Although Trixie grimaced a little, it was obvious to Harriet that she had a healthy respect for her uncle, because after gritting her teeth and casting Harriet an appealing glance, she said quickly, ‘This is Harriet, Rigg. I met her the other…yesterday. She lives in the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Harriet, this is my uncle.’

      ‘Thank you, Trixie, Miss Smith and I have already met.’

      Harriet started a little. Then she had been wrong in that first assumption that he had not recognised her, but how had he discovered her surname?

      ‘Oh, have you?’ Trixie gave them both a puzzled look, and said to Harriet, ‘You never said anything yesterday about meeting Rigg.’

      It was Rigg who answered for her, saying silkily, ‘Perhaps the incident is not one she cares to recall. Miss Smith was, I’m afraid, the unfortunate victim of your idiotic behaviour the other evening. She has the misfortune to drive a car of the same make and colour as yours. When I emerged from the river, to discover her driving towards me, I thought for a moment that you’d come to your senses.’

      As she glanced at Trixie, Harriet saw that that unrepentant young lady was trying hard not to laugh. Her uncle obviously didn’t share her amusement, though. He was looking grimly at both of them.

      ‘Oh, Harriet, no! Was it you who refused to give Rigg a lift?’ Trixie gasped, before her mirth overcame her. ‘See, it worked after all, Rigg!’ she crowed to her uncle. ‘Circumstantial evidence…and I’ll bet that Harriet didn’t believe—’

      ‘What Miss Smith believed was that I was either a lunatic or a rapist, or possibly both,’ Rigg interrupted Trixie in a hard voice.

      ‘Oh, Harriet, how brave of you—refusing to give him a lift.’Trixie’s eyes danced with laughter.

      But Harriet couldn’t share her innocent amusement. Then Rigg had been the one to ask a favour of her, and she had refused, had refused to help or assist him, and now their positions were reversed, and she was the one needing his help…She shuddered inwardly, and wished it had been anyone else in the world she was having to confront right now rather than this cold, stern man. And even more than that she wished that her hitherto easily controllable imagination would not choose now of all times to become both rebellious and dangerous, by insisting on substituting for his immaculate business suit and shirt the vivid memory of how she had seen him in the headlights of her car, wearing nothing but…

      She swallowed hard, and said huskily, ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but the agent did say that you might have a spare key for the cottage here at one time, and I was wondering if you still had it?’

      CHAPTER THREE

      HARRIET knew the answer before the man gave it, of course. It had been there for her to see, quite clearly, in the quick gleam of satisfaction that lightened the coldness of his eyes to a momentary burning gold. It came as no real surprise to her to hear him saying coolly, ‘Unfortunately it was returned to the agent by my secretary some days ago. It’s probably still in the post.’

      She had no doubt that he was telling the truth: this was not a man who would ever stoop to deceit, for any purpose, even one such as retribution. Harriet frowned without knowing she was doing so, her concentration not on the man watching her but on the sharp insistence of her own thoughts. How had she come by such an intense awareness of this man? Why did she have this gut-deep sensation of knowing what kind of human being he was? It wasn’t a knowledge she welcomed. It was too dangerous, too overpowering…too threatening.

      Realising that both he and Trixie were looking at her, she gave them both a brief, polite smile, the kind of smile she had used all her adult life to hold strangers at bay, an aloof, distancing smile that brought a touch of bewilderment to Trixie’s eyes.

      ‘Oh, but surely, Rigg, you could do something