Outsider (7 page)

messy, so they'd used a three-bar electric model instead.

She sank down on to one of the sofas, watching the leaping flames as Eliot

served drinks.

'My own invention,' he told her, pouring out the contents of a cocktail

shaker. 'I'm thinking of patenting it as the Wintersgarth Wallbanger.'

'Or fuel for Concorde,' said Beattie after a cautious sip. 'This is lethal, Eliot!

What on earth is in it?'

'Let that be my little secret,' he said solemnly. He looked at Natalie. 'Care to

take a chance, Mrs Drummond?'

'Now this is damned ridiculous,' Grantham said forcefully. 'We're out of

office hours now, so let's drop all this "Mr and Mrs" nonsense. Her name's

Natalie, lad, and you know it.'

'Yes, why not?' Eliot said slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. 'Shall we

declare a truce?' He held out his hand, compelling her to respond. As his

fingers closed round hers, Natalie found herself remembering with an odd

inward shiver the last time he'd taken her hand—and seconds later, taken her

mouth...

For a long moment, the hazel eyes looked enigmatically down into hers,

holding her gaze as steadily as his hand clasped hers. Then, as if some

unseen chain had been snapped, she was free, listening to Beattie asking him

if the picture over the bureau was an original.

She'd wondered what kind of a cook he would turn out to be, and the tiny

chickens, with their delectable fruit stuffing, and the wine-rich sauce soon

gave her the answer. Even her father, who had been known to express

opinions on 'fancy foreign muck', was reduced to appreciative grunts. And

the blackberry mousse which preceded cheese and coffee was equally

delicious.

'Congratulations.' Natalie added her contribution to the general plaudits.

'There seems to be no end to your talents.'

His oblique grin told her that he'd caught the faint acidity in her tone. He said

quite gently, 'You don't know the half of them.'

I think, Natalie decided as she leaned back in her chair, away from the

candlelit dinner table, to conceal her swift, involuntary blush, that I shall

have 'I must not cross swords with Eliot Lang' tattooed across my forehead.

Beattie was gathering her resources. 'Now, Eliot dear, you must let me wash

up for you. I insist.'

'There's no need,' he shook his head. 'All I have to do is load the dishwasher.'

'Then I'll do that,' she said briskly. 'Give me a hand to clear the table, Natalie,

there's a love.'

Natalie hastened to comply. She would rather be flushed with activity, she

thought, than because Eliot's sardonic gaze had told her quite explicitly that

he could remember every detail of those moments in the tack room.

She was on her way back to the living-room for another load when she

noticed the bedroom door was open and light was pouring into the dim

hallway. Feeling like a thief in the night, she paused at the door for another

look. The bed was flanked now by two small but superbly made walnut

chests of drawers, each carrying asilk-shaded lamp. The room seemed to

glow—to beckon, she thought, her mouth going dry as she realised she was

no longer alone. Eliot was standing beside her, when she'd thought he was

safely in the living-room talking to her father.

She said nervously, 'I'm sorry, you must think I'm unforgivably nosy...'

He cut across her stumbling words. He said harshly, 'Was it like this—the

room—when you slept here with Tony Drummond? Was the furniture in the

same place?'

The question was an outrage, she thought. He had no right, no right in the

world to ask her about such an intimate subject. Her lips parted to tell him

so.

She heard herself say, 'No, it was quite different. The—the bed was on the

other wall, beneath the window.'

Eliot nodded abruptly, his eyes never leaving her face.. He said, 'That's

good. I want it to be different. I don't want even the slightest comparison to

be drawn—when you come here to me.'

His hand touched her face in a caress so fleeting, Natalie thought afterwards

that she'd imagined it.

Then he turned and left her, stunned and speechless, staring after him.

NATALIE lingered over breakfast the next morning, and found herself

inventing excuses for not going immediately down to the stable office as she

normally did.

The rest of the previous evening had passed off without incident. In fact,

Natalie kept asking herself if that moment in the passage hadn't been some

bizarre hallucination. When she eventually returned to the living- room with

Beattie, she found Eliot had reverted to being no more than the courteous

host to them all.

He'd been wasted in National Hunt racing, Natalie told herself furiously. He

should have been an actor—or a chameleon. Fortunately Grantham and

Beattie were enjoying themselves so much that they didn't notice her

protracted silence, or at any rate didn't question it. But she was thankful

when they reluctantly took their leave, just before eleven.

Now she glanced at her watch, and decided she really couldn't delay any

longer. With any luck Eliot would already have ridden out to exercise.

But luck wasn't running her way. The string was only just making its way

out of the yard, and up towards the moor. As Natalie passed, Sharon led

Thunderbird out of his box. Her usually sunny smile of greeting was

subdued.

Natalie paused. 'Is something wrong?' She glanced at Thunderbird. He was

stepping well, and he gleamed with health. 'He's all right, isn't he?'

'He's thriving. He seems to love it here.' Sharon hesitated. 'But I think I'm

going to have to leave.'

'Oh!' Natalie's heart sank. Sharon's employment at Wintersgarth had

represented the first chink in Grantham's chauvinist armour. 'I—I suppose it

is rather quiet here. Are you lonely?'

'Oh, no.' Sharon shook her head vigorously. 'Everyone's really friendly, and

Wes's wife Chris has gone out of her way to make me feel at home.'

'Then what is it?' Natalie persisted.

Sharon glanced round, but no one else was within earshot. She said, 'It

sounds really stupid, but in the blockhouse, there's a Peeping Tom—at least

I think there is.'

'Oh.' Natalie digested this for a moment. 'What makes you think so?'

Sharon sighed. 'I was in the bath two nights ago. I locked the bathroom door

as I always do, but I caught the edge of the towel on the key, and it fell out of

the lock. I just left it, because I was in a bit of a hurry.' She paused. 'I was just

washing my hair when I had the weirdest feeling that someone was looking

through the keyhole at me.'

Natalie bit her lip. 'Did you hear any voices—sniggering?'

'No.' Sharon shook her head. 'I could have coped with that—asked them if

they'd seen enough, told them to grow up—but it wasn't like that. It was

just—silence.'

'What did you do?'

'I just stayed where I was,' Sharon admitted ruefully. 'There was plenty of

lather, what with the shampoo and that. Then eventually I felt that whoever

it was had gone.' She shivered. 'The water was cold by then, though.'

'Well, I can only apologise,' said Natalie. 'But please don't do anything hasty.

Maybe it was just an isolated incident and...'

'But it isn't,' Sharon interrupted unhappily. 'Last night someone tried to get

into my room. I thought I'd have an early night--write a couple of letters

home, and I just had the little bedside lamp on. Well, I must have dozed off,

but I woke up about midnight. I turned over to switch the lamp off, and I saw

the door handle turning, ever so slowly, and the whole door moved just a bit

as if somebody had pushed against it, testing whether it was locked.'

'Which it was.'

'Oh, yes, I always turn the key when I'm on my own. At my last place, I

shared with two other girls, and I'm in with my sister at home.'

'How long did it go on for?'

'Quite a while.' Sharon paused. 'Well, it seemed like it, but I dare say it was

only a minute or two really. Whoever it was just kept twisting the handle

backwards and forwards. And this time I did speak. I said "Who's that?" ever

so loudly, and I heard someone run away.' She shook her head, her candid

eyes fixed on Natalie's face. 'But it gave me a turn, and I didn't like it.'

'I wouldn't have liked it either,' Natalie admitted, with a grimace. She

thought for a moment. 'Have you any idea who it could be? Have any of the

lads...'

'Come sniffing round?' Sharon supplied. 'Not really. I'm older than a few of

them, and I made it clear at the start, without being nasty, that I was here to

work, and I wasn't interested in anything else.'

'Obviously someone interpreted that as encouragement,' Natalie said with a

sigh. 'If we can get this sorted out, would you be prepared to stay then?'

Sharon looked doubtful. 'I don't see how it can be sorted, without causing an

awful atmosphere, and I wouldn't want to do that. Besides, even if I did find

out who it was, he'd probably say he meant it as a joke. But I don't want to

leave, and that's the truth.'

'Then leave it with me—please.' Natalie patted her arm. 'And now you'd

better get off, or Wes will be shouting at the pair of us.'

'At last!' Eliot snapped impatiently, as she entered the office. He was sitting

on the edge of her desk, one booted leg swinging, fingers drumming briskly.

'I began to think you'd decided not to work today.'

'I almost did,' she said shortly. 'Is it something urgent?'

'Rather more essential than your gossip with Sharon,' he said brusquely. 'I'd

like you to call the vet, and ask him to look at Murgatroyd's Lad. He cast in

his box last night, and is going lame. I don't think it's too serious, but I want

to make sure. And would you also give the builders a blast for me. I want a

start made on those new loose boxes.'

'Yes, sir. Right away, sir.' Natalie sketched a salute. 'And I was not

gossiping,' she added hotly. 'Sharon had a problem she wanted to talk over.'

'Then she should bring them to Grantham or myself,' he returned. 'We pay

her wages. Besides, you have problems enough of your own. What was so

important as to keep Thunderbird hanging round in the yard for nearly ten

minutes?'

'I can handle it.'

'Your faith in your abilities is so touching, sweetheart. Is she unhappy? Is it

the lack of night life?'

Although she was still smarting from his jibe, Natalie felt her lips twitch

involuntarily. 'Far from it,' she said drily. 'Someone's been spying on her.

Peering through the bathroom keyhole—trying her door at night—that kind

of thing.' She paused. 'Sexual harassment is the jargon phrase, I believe.'

Eliot said something rude and succinct under his breath. 'Well, that can stop

before it begins,' he said angrily. 'Does she have the least idea who it is?'

Natalie shook her head.

'Do you?' The question was sharp enough to make her jump slightly.

'Er—no.' But it wasn't altogether true. She herself had been made to feel

uneasy, more than once.

'That could have been spoken with more conviction.' Eliot gave her a long

look. 'Is Sharon very upset?'

'Upset enough to be talking about going back down South.'

His lips tightened. 'That's not going to happen. She's too damned valuable to

be driven away by some adolescent with his brains in his pants.' He walked

to the door, then swung back towards Natalie. 'But you won't deal with this.

I will.'

'Do you think you're quite the right person to take this high moral stance?'

Natalie asked coolly.

His brows lifted. 'Snooping round keyholes has never been my style,

darling. If I want to look at a girl taking a bath, I make sure the tub's big

enough for two.'

Natalie's cheeks warmed faintly. She looked down at the pile of unopened

envelopes in front of her. 'I didn't mean that. I meant—you're quite adept at

sexual harassment yourself.'

'In what way?' He leaned against the door jamb as if he had all the time in the

world.

'You know quite well,' she protested. 'Last night you made an

unpleasant—an unforgivable remark.'

'Ah,' he smiled. 'But that wasn't harassment, sweetheart. That was a

prophecy.'

She tore open one of the envelopes, ripping its contents in her haste.

'Kindly understand this,' she said, her voice shaking. 'Under no

circumstances will I sleep with you—ever!'

His smile widened. 'Who mentioned sleeping?' he murmured, and went out,

slamming the door behind him.

Natalie seethed, she simmered, she was incandescent with rage.

Why do I do it? she wailed inwardly. Why do I set myself up?

Well, it would not happen again, she promised herself. After all, it was

damaging to allow herself to be upset over what was only a little cheap