our relationship is purely incidental.’
Angela would not let it rest there, however. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she had declared firmly. ‘I can get leave of absence from the salon—’ Angela was a masseuse, working in partnership with a cousin who was a hairdresser. They had built up a successful salon in the West End, and had many influential names on their books.
But Julie refused to consider her offer. She wasn’t feeling at all brave about the coming interview, but she did know that Angela’s presence was likely to undermine her confidence, and confidence was something she needed –badly. ‘No,’ she had averred determinedly, ‘you’re needed at the salon, and it’s about time I was able to stand on my own two feet where Jonas is concerned!’
Angela had protested, of course, and Julie’s mother had shed a few tears, but they had both realized that in this Julie was adamant. Perhaps it would do her good to see Jonas again, she had told herself in some of her bleaker moments. Although her love for him had died when she had discovered his duplicity, she had always considered him a fascinating man, and no doubt now that she was older she would see that hero-worship for what it was. She had been only nineteen at the time of their marriage while he had been thirty, and as the marriage had broken up after only a little over two years, she had been just twenty-one then. Now she was twenty-four, and far more capable of assessing a man objectively.
The train was pulling into another station and her nerves tightened, but again it was not Achnacraig. This time her companion got up to leave the train and Julie was alone in the compartment. She sighed, peering through the darkness in an effort to see what was beyond as they left the small station far behind. But the blackness was too complete and she glanced impatiently at her wrist watch. It was a little after seven and she knew that part of her coldness came from hunger. Perhaps she should have stayed overnight in Inverness and travelled on to Achnacraig in the morning. But that would have meant another day, and she was eager to get the interview over and done with and be gone. Even so, it would have given her the added advantage of arriving in daylight, whereas now it could have been midnight if one considered the deserted platforms of the stations they had passed. She hoped that Achnacraig was a little more prepossessing.
Her suitcase was lodged between two seats, so she got up and pulled it out, ready for alighting. It couldn’t be much further, surely. She fastened the buttons of her sheepskin coat and looked down at the long suede boots covering her legs to the knee. At least she looked business-like, she decided grimly. She had no intention of allowing Jonas any possibility of imagining that she had come here for any other reason than the given one.
The train was slowing again and Julie pressed her nose against the window pane, drawing back impatiently as her breath misted on the glass. She rubbed it clear and stared at the sign. Achnacraig.
Her pulses quickening in spite of herself, she gathered her handbag, briefcase, and the small suitcase she had brought and hurried to the carriage door. But as the train came to a jerky halt it swung open and had she not grabbed the panelling to save herself, she would have been projected forward into the arms of the man standing below her on the platform. He was a tall man, lean and dark-skinned, with overly long dark hair, dressed in a shabby navy duffel coat, dark trousers and wellingtons. Julie stared at him almost disbelievingly, but there was no mistaking the heavy-lidded dark eyes, the high cheekbones and mockingly twisted mouth with its full lower lip. He had always been a disturbingly attractive man, and she wondered with a fleeting sense of remorse whether women were always more prepared to condemn an attractive man than an unattractive one.
‘Jonas!’ she managed, as he stooped to pick up the briefcase she had dropped in her efforts to save herself. ‘What are you doing here?’
As soon as the words were out she realized how ridiculous they must sound. He straightened and regarded her humorously.
‘Didn’t you expect to see me?’ he queried sardonically.
‘Well, yes – yes, of course.’ She came down the steps on to the platform, looking about her in an effort to conceal the shock he had given her by confronting her so unexpectedly, and he took the suitcase from her unresisting fingers. ‘Wh-what I meant was – I – I didn’t expect you to meet me.’
‘Didn’t you?’ He glanced down at her. ‘But you wrote and told me when you were coming.’
‘Yes, I know I did …’ She paused, shivering in the wind that blew through the open ends of the small station. This wasn’t at all how she had planned the interview to be. How like Jonas to disconcert her like this, she thought rather uncharitably. ‘What I’m trying to say is – I merely wrote so that you would know when to expect me.’ She sighed. ‘I – I was planning to come and see you tomorrow.’
‘Were you?’ Jonas didn’t sound at all impressed. ‘And where were you proposing to spend the night? Or have you got a tent and sleeping bag in your suitcase?’
Julie looked up at him resentfully. ‘I intend to spend the night at the nearest hotel or guest-house.’
‘Do you?’ He had an annoying habit of questioning her every statement. ‘Well, shall we go? Old Angus won’t welcome you if you keep him waiting to collect your ticket.’
He started away towards the barrier and she had, perforce, to follow him. The wind was tugging wisps of hair from the chignon on the nape of her neck and she tried to tuck the chestnut strands back into place, without much success.
‘I – where do you think you’re going with my suitcase?’ she demanded breathlessly.
Jonas cast an impatient look at her. ‘Well, I’m not making off with it,’ he returned coolly. Then: ‘Ah, here we are, Angus. Last – but not least, as they say.’
As she fumbled for her ticket, Angus cast a dour look in Julie’s direction. He seemed awfully old still to be working, but perhaps it was the single swaying light above their heads that cast such shadows across his gnarled face.
‘Not much of a night, Mr. Hunter,’ he said, and Julie was momentarily distracted by his lilting brogue. ‘May be snow before morning, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Julie’s heart leapt as she handed over the ticket. Snow? In October? Surely not.
She hesitated as the old man was about to turn away, and said tentatively: ‘Excuse me …’
Jonas stopped some few feet ahead of her and turned, a frown marring his lean features.
‘Yes, miss?’ Angus looked expectantly at her.
Julie caught her breath. ‘I – is there somewhere – that is – do you happen to know where I might find accommodation for the night?’
‘Accommodation, was it?’ Angus shook his head slowly and Julie’s heart sank. Then Jonas was beside her, his hand hard and unyielding about her arm.
‘There are no hotels in Achnacraig, Julie,’ he said coldly, his eyes daring her to contradict him. ‘Besides, I have – accommodation arranged for you.’
Angus had lost interest and was already turning away into his cosy office leaving them alone on the deserted platform. Julie turned to Jonas angrily. ‘What do you mean – you have accommodation arranged?’
‘Just what I say.’ Jonas shifted her suitcase into his other hand.
‘At a guest-house, you mean?’
‘Julie, there are no guest-houses open in Achnacraig at this time of the year. It’s almost November. The tourist season is long over.’
Julie felt upset and frustrated. ‘Then where am I to stay?’ she demanded, steadying her voice with difficulty.
‘At Castle Lochcraig, of course. Where else?’
‘Castle – Lochcraig?’ Julie gathered the lapels of her coat together with a gloved hand. ‘But – but that’s your – your—’
‘Castle? Yes, I know.’ Jonas sounded almost indifferent. ‘But don’t let that