Wild Lady Part 5

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "There are two reasons. If someone is trying to hurt you it's almost certainly someone that you know."

"And you suspect Melanie? Are you mad?" But even as she said it she remembered Melanie's bitterness the night before. Then she gave a little gasp. How could she even think such a thing? But even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. It was what suspicion did to you. It poisoned your mind, warped your thinking until you'd believe anything. It was what the letter writer wanted. She pushed the black thought firmly away. "What was the other reason?"

"If someone is trying to hurt you, you won't want any of your family or friends to become unintentional victims." She said nothing. "I'm sorry, Claudia. The letter and the photograph might have been a nasty joke. The brakes weren't. You're going to have to take this seriously."

"Oh come on..." she began, then her voice died away. He meant it. He really and truly meant it. "How seriously?"

"Very seriously. In fact until we discover who's been sending you nasty notes, chopping up your photograph and interfering with your car, I'm going to have to insist on a few simple precautions. Transport is the most obvious." She picked up the card, turned it over. It didn't bear a name, simply a telephone number. "Don't worry if you're not here when I get back, I'll let myself in."

"Don't you dare break in here again," she warned him.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I found a spare set of keys in the kitchen drawer." She was still staring after him as the front door clicked shut.

Claudia clambered from the bed, dragging the sheet with her as she flew down the hall to wrench on a bolt that had been painted over half a dozen times since it had been last used. It didn't budge and she had to push the slider up and down several times to loosen it. Eventually it shifted under her determined onslaught and she slammed it home. "Get through that, Gabriel MacIntyre," she challenged him, with satisfaction.

Then, taking him at his word that she should trust no one, she tipped the tea he had so carefully made her down the sink and set a pot of coffee to drip before retreating to the bathroom where, with the door defiantly open, she took a leisurely shower, washed her hair and generally took her time about getting ready, indulging herself in a manner that the previous week's training sessions had not allowed.

She was covering the bruise beneath her eye with cosmetic concealer when the telephone rang. She loved the telephone, enjoyed hearing from her friends. Now she stared at the instrument as if afraid that it might bite her. The very anonymity of the caller seemed suddenly threatening; she had no idea who might be at the other end, what awful things they might say. As she eyed it suspiciously it rang again and she gave a little gasp of irritation at her pathetic response. "Sticks and stones..." she muttered, picking up the receiver.

"Claudia Beaumont," she answered, the firmness of her voice challenging anyone who thought she was an easy target to think again.

"Heavens," Mel laughed. "You do sound fierce. You're not still cross about those roses are you?"

"Roses?" She was shaken by the depth of her relief that the call was innocent. "Oh no. I was expecting the garage to ring," she lied. "I didn't want them to think I was a pushover. Good party last night?"

"Great," Mel enthused and Claudia winced. How could anyone be that eager so soon after getting up? Then she smiled ruefully at her own reflection. It wasn't so long ago that she would have partied half the night away and still been b.u.t.ton-bright the following morning. These days she didn't even want to. It was a daunting thought. "The thing is, Claud," Mel was running on, "I met a guy who has some kind of radio show and he asked me to do an interview today so I won't be able to pick you up." Claudia didn't say anything; something had frozen her tongue. "Claud? Did you hear me?"

She took in a long breath. "Yes, Mel, I heard. Who's show is it?" she asked, casually.

"Josh somebody. Roads?"

"Oh, right. Josh Rhodes." For just a moment, for just one awful moment, she'd allowed herself to think that Gabriel MacIntyre was right. That someone was out to get her and that they'd invented some spurious show to get Melanie out of the way. But Josh Rhodes was a popular talk show host. "Don't worry," she said. "I can get a cab."

As she hung up her glance fell on the card lying next to the telephone. She picked it up, tapped it against her thumbnail. Then, with a shrug of resignation, she dialed the number. Before it could ring, she slammed the receiver back onto its cradle and stepped back, glaring at the instrument as if it had personally done something to offend her.

This was no way to live. Jumping when the telephone rang, afraid to go out into the street. Whoever had written that note and planted the photograph had had their fun and she refused to be driven onto the defensive.

The garage had offered to loan her a car until hers was repaired or replaced. She'd take it and go home to Broomhill after the show tonight. She needed time to think and she wanted to talk things over with Fizz. Her younger sister was down-to-earth, practical. If anyone would know the best way to handle this, she would. And the decision made, she called the garage and then hauled an overnight bag down from the top of her wardrobe.

Half an hour later, wearing a pair of black leggings with a vivid oversized silk jersey top that draped her figure provocatively in a manner designed to turn heads in the street, or anywhere else for that matter, she grabbed her bag and defiantly set her alarm before letting herself out the flat. Gabriel MacIntyre could go and frighten someone else because one thing was certain. If the day came when she didn't dare to step out of her own front door and hail a black cab, she'd enter a convent. The thought raised the smile that had been absent all morning and without another thought she walked to the corner, saw a cruising taxi and began to raise her arm.

Then, suddenly uncertain, she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back and stood and watched it go by.

"You're an idiot, Claudia Beaumont," she said to herself, as it slowed to turn the corner. "I really can't believe you just did that." And waving frantically she chased after it.

CHAPTER FOUR.

CLAUDIA, already zipped into the overalls that she had been wearing the day before, was lacing up her boots when there was a tap on her dressing room door.

"The car's here to take you to the studios, Miss Claudia."

"Thanks, Jim. Tell the driver I'll be with him in a couple of minutes, will you?"

She finished lacing the boots and checked her reflection in the full-length mirror fastened to the wall. The bruise was showing nicely through a minimal layer of foundation, the jumpsuit was suitably crumpled and stained and her limp was sufficient to arouse sympathy without being grotesque. Barty would no doubt be thoroughly pleased with her. She pulled a face at herself. Pleasing Barty James came very low on her list of priorities.

After letting that first taxi go, she'd quickly pulled herself together and had determinedly shaken off the sense of unease that Mac had stirred up. All she had to do was get through the television appearance and the second house and then she was going to spend the rest of the weekend with Fizz and Luke.

Nothing could be more guaranteed to put her life back in perspective.

She picked up her handbag and walked out to the stage door. "Warn the front of house manager that it might be a bit tight this evening will you, Jim? I've asked for my piece to be in the first part of the show, but I'll ring if there's a problem."

"I'll warn him."

She opened the door and stepped confidently into the early evening sunshine, her panic attack long since evaporated in warmth of sweet reason.

It was all so obvious. Adele, despite her denials, had tried to frighten her. Who else had the slightest reason to scare her? No one. Not one single person. It had to be Adele. She could understand that, even sympathize with her.

As for the brakes, well the manager of the garage had been rea.s.suring. He clearly thought talk of the car being tampered with was the imaginings of a man out to impress a glamorous young woman. He'd as good as said as much, promising her a full report as soon as possible. She'd wait for that rather than rely on the opinion of an amateur who seemed to suffer from delusions that he was James Bond.

A sleek black car was waiting at the curb, engine running and as she leaned forward to speak to the driver, her hair swung forward so that she sensed rather than saw the man who grabbed her round the waist, lifting her clean off her feet. And before she could react, cry out, alert Jim on the other side of the stage door, a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was bundled unceremoniously into the rear seat. She struggled, but his arm was a band of steel around her waist and her back was jammed hard against his chest as they pulled rapidly away from the curb.

She was angry, she was incensed at the indignity of it, but she wasn't fooled for a minute. Gabriel MacIntyre couldn't scare her twice in twenty-four hours. She kicked back with her boot and connected in the most satisfactory manner with an unguarded shin. The hand at her mouth loosened and she bit down, hard.

"You cat!" Mac exploded as he released her.

She turned on him, furiously. "You're lucky to have got off so lightly. What the h.e.l.l do you think you're playing at?"

"Lightly?" He sucked on the pad of his thumb, glaring at her over his hand.

She pushed back her hair, wriggling to the opposite end of the seat. "Well what did you expect? Another kiss for your trouble?"

"I expected you to take the simplest of precautions for your own safety. You chose to ignore me."

"Of course I ignored you. You're crazy."

"I'm crazy? I'm not the one on the receiving end of a threatening letter. And I'm not the one who with a sudden brake failure."

"Two quite unrelated incidents. I'm quite certain I know who was responsible for the first -"

His eyes narrowed. "Who?"

She didn't bother to answer. Why should he believe her when his precious sister had already denied responsibility? "And the second was just some mechanical foul up," she concluded.

"You're a trained mechanic are you?"

She regarded him with irritation. He clearly thought he was helping, but he wasn't. "Are you?" she demanded.

"I'd take any bet you care to offer that I know more about the internal workings of a motor car than you do, Claudia -"

"I thought not."

It was obvious from his expression that he wanted to put her over his knee and spank her. He was clearly having difficulty in restraining himself. Well, just let him try, she thought as he regarded her over his still smarting hand. "I simply suggested you take the most elementary precautions before you went out. It wasn't much to ask."

"Why?" She was genuinely curious. "As far as I can see the only danger I'm in is from you. This could be a genuine kidnapping attempt for all I know."

"Precisely." He glared at her.

"So, how much do you think I'm worth?" she asked, flippantly.

"To me? Nothing. You're a spoilt woman with nothing but her looks to commend her. To whoever's trying to frighten you, hurt you? I don't imagine money means anything at all. Perhaps you should give some serious thought as to what his motive might be. Then maybe you'll we can discuss sensible precautions."

"Motive?"

"Yes, d.a.m.n it, motive. For heaven's sake, Claudia, can't you use the common sense you were born with? Or haven't you got any?"

She ignored his attempts to scare her. She refused to be scared. "When I asked why, Mac, I meant why are you going to so much bother to offer your protection when you clearly don't think I'm worth my s.p.a.ce on the pavement and I've made it more than plain that I don't want you to? And as to common sense, let me tell you I've got more sense than to be scared witless by you three times in two days."

"Are you saying that you knew it was me back there? I don't mean after the first panic when you had time to think. I mean at the very moment I grabbed you."

"Yes."

He sat back, regarding her with disbelief written large on every feature. "How?" *****

A combination of things. The outdoor scent of the rough army sweater he was wearing, the hardness of his chest at her back, the girder-width of his shoulders as he pushed her into the car. The fact that he had avoided the bruised side of her face when he had covered her mouth. "I just knew, all right?" Then, "This is crazy, Mac. Haven't you got anything better to do than make my life difficult?"

"Don't blame the messenger, lady. I'm not the one making your life difficult."

"You underestimate yourself."

"No. But I think you're underestimating a very real danger. If that had been a genuine s.n.a.t.c.h you'd have been out cold on the car floor before the door was closed. No kicking. No biting."

"No one is going to s.n.a.t.c.h me. No one wants to hurt me. Adele did the stuff with the photograph, she just doesn't want to admit it and I can't say I blame her." Claudia didn't think Mac would be slow to make his feelings felt, no matter how pregnant his sister was.

He didn't bother to argue. "And the brakes?"

"The garage will send me a report. When I've got it, I'll take whatever action seems appropriate." She pushed her hair back from her face. "Now, since this clearly isn't the car Barty promised to send for me, but one from your tame taxi company, with a tame taxi driver who is following your orders, will you kindly tell him to take me to the television studios? I'll be happy to drop you at the nearest Underground station."

Mac grinned. "It really would be quite easy to like you, Claudia. You're an idiot but you've got plenty of spirit."

She arched a brow at him. "If that was supposed to be a compliment, Mac, it was on a par with your apologies. You're going to have to try harder. Much harder." She leaned forward and tapped on the window. The driver slid the gla.s.s back. "Stop at the nearest convenient spot, please. Mr. MacIntyre wishes to get out."

The driver glanced at Mac for instructions. He shook his head. "Mr. MacIntyre has the same destination as you ma'am," he said, with every appearance of regret. Then he closed the gla.s.s.

She turned on Mac. "Is that true? Are you going to the studios?"

"Of course." He indicated his clothes. Like her, he was dressed as if about to take a parachute jump. "You don't think this is my normal evening wear do you?"

"I'm not prepared to hazard a guess at what you might choose to wear at any time of the day," she replied, stiffly.

"Tony was supposed to come along and tell the viewers what a feisty girl you are and how well you did. But since I'm on the film and he's still confined to barracks..." His gesture said it all.

"Tell me, Mac, if your sister thought you were at risk from my vampish behavior, do you think she'd react in the same obliging way and keep you locked up?"

He regarded her sourly. "I think my sister has her hands full already, don't you?"

"With one baby on the way and another on leading strings? More than full," she agreed, then she kinked an eyebrow at him, refusing to let him duck the rest of her question. "What a pity your wife doesn't keep you on a closer rein."

"My wife is in no position to do anything of the sort," he said, his voice expressionless. "My wife is dead."

Claudia felt her insides curl up with embarra.s.sment. The man was a grieving widower and she'd just jumped all over his wife's grave. There were days when her mouth seemed to attract her foot. For a moment he continued to stare at her, then he turned away and looked out of the window. "I'm sorry," she said.

"We're here," he said.

He didn't want to talk about it; he couldn't have made it more obvious. She glanced at him as they reported to reception, signed the visitors book. He met her gaze. He knew all about the questions rattling around her brain but his eyes made it quite plain that it was none of her business.

A girl in a pink wrap around overall appeared at her side diffusing the sudden tension. "h.e.l.lo, I'm Jill," she said, brightly. "If you'd like to come this way Miss Beaumont, Mr. MacIntyre, I'll take you through to make-up." She ran a professional eye over Claudia's bruise. "We should be able to do something about that."

"No. The bruise stays, Barty's orders. All I need is a comb through my hair."

"Your lipstick could do with some work," Mac suggested, helpfully. Claudia glared up at him. "It's a bit smudged."

"Just wait until they start to work on you," Claudia muttered.

Jill smiled up at Mac. "I don't think Mr. MacIntyre needs any makeup. He has a natural tan and with his bone structure..." Apparently Mac's bone structure defied description. "Why don't you go along to the Green Room," she suggested, helpfully. "It's just down there on the right."

But Claudia wasn't about to let him get away with it that easily. "I'm afraid Mac will have to stay with me," she said, turning an innocent expression on him. "I'm sure you'll want to check everything out." She laid her hand on his arm. "Just in case..." she whispered, leaving the implication hanging in the air. She didn't believe it, but he was the one making all the fuss. "Unless of course you're desperate for a drink? Kidnapping is such hard work."

His smile was grudging, but it was there as he followed her into the makeup suite, leaning against the door as Claudia was seated and swathed in a large pink cape. Jill began to blot off her lipstick, cleaning off the smudges where Mac had covered her mouth with his hand to stop her screaming. When the girl had finished and had decided on a replacement color, Claudia leaned around the chair to look at him.

"Do you think you ought test it first?" she asked. "Just in case it's been tampered with?"

"I think I can restrain myself."

Jill, apparently used to odd behavior, took not the slightest notice of this exchange. "Just tilt your head back, please," she instructed, then began to paint on the color. "There, that's better." She eyed Claudia's bruise through the mirror. "You're sure about that? I can cover it up in a tick."

"I'm sure."

The girl shrugged. "Do you want to do your own hair?"

Claudia regarded her reflection. Her sleekly styled hair was tousled from her recent close-arms engagement with Mac. It went with the bruise perfectly. "My hair's fine the way it is." She pulled off the cape and thanked the girl before slipping her arm through Mac's. "Come on, darling. I have a yearning for a gla.s.s of something wet and fizzy before the sound man comes looking for us."

"More champagne?" he asked.