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teasing. Because Eliot had no serious intentions towards her. Curvy blondes

were his type of woman, not skinny redheads. It was just the type of man

who couldn't resist verbal advances to anything in a skirt, and she despised

him for it. She despised all men who needed women not as people but as a

boost to their macho egos.

She glanced down and saw that the pencil she'd been holding had snapped in

two in her taut fingers.

She took a deep breath, and tossed the pieces into the waste basket. She

could not afford to let him get to her like that again. From now on she would

be deaf to the promise in the cool, drawling voice, the amused invitation in

the hazel eyes. And eventually, when he was faced by a wall of blank

indifference, Eliot would, she hoped, transfer his advances to some more

willing lady.

Or should she try shock tactics, with the truth? Look him straight in the eye,

and say, 'It's no use trying to seduce me, because I'm immune. I know the

kisses and the sweet talk for what they are—the big build-up to the big

let-down. All during my marriage I tried to enjoy sex and failed completely.

I used to dread going to bed at night. I used to pray that he'd leave me

alone—not touch me. Our whole relationship was a sham, and as a wife, I

was the biggest phoney of all. In fact, my husband's last words to me before

he stormed out of the house that day' were, "It's your own fault, you frigid

little bitch!"'

The old nausea, the old trembling began all over again, and she pressed her

hand convulsively over her mouth. Eliot Lang had succeeded in reviving

memories she'd hoped were buried for ever. Memories that should have been

buried.

Memories that would be...

She telephoned the vet, who said he would call early that afternoon. She

called the builder, who said work on the new looseboxes would be started

the following day. She dealt with the mail, moving like an automaton.

It would be healthier, she thought, to concentrate on her other grievances

where Eliot was concerned. The way he'd dismissed her involvement with

Sharon's problem, for instance, still rankled.

He might be the boss, but he was still a comparative stranger to the yard. His

relationship with the stable lads was predominantly a working one. Most of

them had been at Wintersgarth for some time, so it was natural she should

know more about their lives and personalities than he did. She knew which

of them were courting local girls, and which of them preferred to spend their

free time adventuring in Leeds. And she also had her feminine instinct to go

on.

I'd bet a month's salary I know who it is who's pestering Sharon, she thought

as Ben Watson's image presented itself. It wasn't just the way he looked at

her. There was a television and video set in the recreationroom at the

blockhouse, and she'd heard whispers of late-night blue movie sessions, with

films Ben had brought back from his day off. And not that long ago she had

found two of the youngest lads goggling over girlie magazines of the most

lurid and explicit kind. When she'd questioned them rather sharply, they had

admitted Ben had lent them to them. These were things Eliot had no means

of knowing.

And it was herself that Sharon had turned to, after all, so help her she would.

She rested her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her clasped hands,

as she pondered what to do. It would be useless to accuse Ben directly.

Sharon had seen no one, and there was no actual proof, so all he would need

to do would be to protest his injured innocence.

Although a confrontation might warn him off from any future prying, she

thought dubiously. But he would still be around, a sly and distasteful

influence, especially on the younger and more impressionable lads.

And she couldn't simply request Grantham to fire him, as there was nothing

wrong with his work. His horses were well turned out, and Wes, who was a

stickler for standards, had no real complaints about him, because she'd

checked during Grantham's absence.

But if he could be caught in the act, she could insist that he was dismissed.

The trick, of course, was catching him. She thought for a while longer, then

nodded. She would see Sharon later during the rest period before evening

stables and tell her what she had in mind.

And all Sharon had to do was agree.

'I feel a real fool,' said Sharon, three nights later. 'Maybe I imagined the

whole thing. There's no need for you to bother any more, Miss Natalie. Why

don't you give up, and go back up to the house?'

Natalie smiled as she put her flashlight down on the bedside table. 'Because

I refuse to be defeated so easily,' she returned. 'I'll give it one more night, and

if there's nothing we'll assume that Mr X has given up in disgust.''

Sharon lingered, frowning. 'But I know Eliot wouldn't like it if he knew,' she

said abruptly. 'He was talking to me about it only today—asking if there'd

been any trouble, and telling me I was to go straight to him, if so. I didn't

know where to put my face.'

'Oh, he won't mind,' Natalie said mendaciously, 'Now, off you go, and get a

good night's sleep.'

After another doubtful look, Sharon departed to take up temporary quarters

in one of the unoccupied rooms, as she'd done for the last two nights.

It was all a bit like Fourth Form pranks in the dorm, Natalie thought with

self-mockery, as she stretched out on top of Sharon's bed. Going up to her

room at the house on the pretext of having an early night, then creeping out

later without being seen, and making her way down to the blockhouse. Only

there was no midnight feast to look forward to, only hours of uneasy dozing

as she waited vainly for the unlocked door to open. And when it did, and the

flashlight had revealed who the unknown molester was, she had rehearsed a

short but pithy speech, culminating in an order to present himself at the

office in the morning for his cards.

She sighed, as she moved into a more comfortable position. At least her

scheme had given her a chance to test the lads' accommodation at first hand.

Didn't they say you should always sleep in your own spare bed before

offering it to a guest? she thought, grinning to herself.

Well, there was nothing the matter with this bed, ever, if it was narrower

than she was accustomed to.

She hadn't much in the- way of camouflage clothes, so she'd put on a black

velvet lounging suit which she'd bought on impulse, and never worn, and

she'd tied her hair up in a black silk scarf. She removed this now, shaking the

copper waves over her shoulders, and turned on to her side, watching the

door. In her heart she was beginning to agree with Sharon that she was

probably wasting her time. Ben, if it was Ben,, would have taken fright when

Sharon called out, realising that she was a girl with a healthy pair of lungs

who could scream the block down if her assailant had got into her room. And

he knew she kept her door locked, so he'd be a fool to try again, and she was

an even bigger idiot for thinking so.

She heard the others come up to bed, heard the jokes, the small scuffles and

'goodnights' before everything went quiet for the night.

And eventually, Natalie's eyelids drooped, and she too slept.

To be woken by a hand, stiflingly over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, her

body rigid with panic, as she registered the voice whispering gloatingly in

her ear.

'You want it, don't you? That's why you left your door open, because you

knew I'd be back. You want this.' His other hand groped obscenely under the

velvet top, and Natalie's body jack-knifed in sheer revulsion. She bit

violently at the smothering hand, at the same time making a grab for the

flashlight.

He swore disgustingly, and hit her across the face so hard her head sang. But

the flashlight was in her hand, and desperately she clicked on the switch,

sending a beam of light straight into Ben Watson's startled eyes. He blinked,

flinching away, and it gave her the chance to push away the clammily

exploring hand and roll across the bed. She stood up, keeping the light

trained on him.

She'd forgotten everything she intended to say. His touch seemed to be all

over her. She felt polluted. Her voice cracking, she said, 'Be at the office

tomorrow, Watson. You're leaving. And don't ask for a reference.''

For a moment he stiffened, then he switched on the bedside lamp and stood

staring at her.

'Well, well,' he said softly. 'If it isn't Miss Toffee-nosed Natalie herself! Miss

Iced Diamond.'

'Never mind that,' she said sharply. 'Get out of here, and be glad I don't have

you charged with attempted rape.'

'Rape?' There was something more than a sneer in his voice. 'It wouldn't be

rape, you bitch, and you know it. You ask for it, all of you, walking round,

flaunting yourselves, thinking yourselves so bloody high and mighty.' His

voice thickened. 'What's the matter? Were you jealous Sharon might be

getting something you weren't? Well, you only had to tip me the wink. I've

always fancied you, but you knew that, didn't you— treating me like I was

dirt.'

'You are dirt.' Natalie kept her voice steady with an effort. 'Now get back to

your own quarters.'

'All in good time.' He was far too much at ease, she thought with sudden

fear. 'We're on our own. You can drop the play-acting. I know what you

need. It's been a long time, hasn't it, since that husband of yours picked the

wrong time to use that unmanned crossing? You've been missing it. And

now, here you are.' He giggled, and the hair rose on the nape of her neck. 'It's

like backing a bloody outsider and winning the tote jackpot.' He started to

move towards her. 'So let's forget about me leaving, shall we? By tomorrow

you might not want me to.'

Natalie lifted her chin. 'Keep away from me, Watson!'

'Try and make me—Drummond.' His tone was vicious. 'You've robbed me

of my bit of fun, so the least you can do is make it up to me.'

She'd never noticed before how stocky he was, how broad-shouldered. She

took a firmer grip on the heavy flashlight. She wanted to scream, but the

muscles of her throat didn't seem to be working properly. She'd heard panic

could do that to you, but she'd never believed it until that moment, with Ben

Watson closing on her, grinning, running his tongue round his lips.

As he reached her, she swung the flashlight at him, but he grabbed her wrist,

twisting it cruelly, making her gasp with pain. She kicked at him, but the

light-soled shoes she was wearing made little impression. Her struggles just

seemed to amuse him.

He threaded his hand through her hair, pulling her head painfully

backwards, and she felt his mouth, hot and wet, on her exposed throat. And

this time she did scream, a strangled thread of sound.

Then the door erupted open, and the room seemed suddenly full of people.

She saw Eliot's dark, furious face, then Ben Watson was tumbling

backwards, lying on the rug, with a trickle of blood coming from the corner

of his mouth.

Eliot caught Natalie by the shoulders. 'Are you all right?' His voice was

hoarse, totally unlike his own. She nodded weakly, tried to say something

and failed.

'Take her,' he said to Sharon, who had stayed near the door, looking

hangdog. 'Sit her on the bed and put her head between her knees for a

moment or two while I deal with this scum.'

Natalie saw him reach down, jerking Watson to his feet by the front of his

shirt, and closed her eyes, feeling sick.

'Don't,' she managed to croak. 'Oh God, don't! Just get him out of here. Get

rid of him.'

The hazel eyes were blazing. 'I'm calling the police.'

'No, you can't. We have to think of Grantham. I—I won't press charges. Just

make sure I don't have to see him again.'

There was a loaded silence, then Eliot turned to Sharon. 'When Miss Natalie

can walk, take her back to the house. Mrs Slater will look after her.'

'She'll be in bed.' Natalie found she wanted to burst into tears. 'We mustn't

wake her.'

'Don't be a damned fool,' he said crushingly. 'How do you think I knew you

were missing?' He gave Natalie one last furious look, then left the room,

propelling Ben Watson in front of him.

'He isn't half mad,' Sharon said gloomily. 'I'm going to be in dead lumber

tomorrow.'

'It is tomorrow.' Natalie hauled herself wearily to her feet. 'It's all right,

Sharon. I'll tell him I talked you into it, that you had no choice.'

Sharon didn't look wholly comforted. She said, 'I thought I heard something,

so I'd come out into the corridor to see, when he came up those stairs like a

crazy man. He said, "She's here, isn't she? Don't bother to lie."' She shivered.