Chance-met Stranger Read online

  Janie made some tea. The men would be ages, no doubt. She took the mug into the sitting room, kicked off her shoes, and sank onto the big settee, sipping slowly. She had loved it here, the place had so many memories, but it was a long drive into Bath, where she worked, especially at night. Maybe she ought to look for something there if she could afford it.

  She was half asleep, and jumped when there was a sudden knock at the door. The men must be back already. Stumbling to her feet she tripped over her shoes and dropped the mug. Tea splashed over the ancient carpet. As she cursed her clumsiness, hastily scooping up the two halves of the broken mug, another thing the wretched man would despise her for, she had time to be relieved she wasn't intending to take the carpet with her. Aunt Jane's money would stretch to new ones when she knew where she was going.

  'You're back early,' she said, and the dark haired one raised his eyebrows, then laughed.

  'I thought you'd be pleased to see me.'

  His tone was provocative, and Janie blushed as she saw him eyeing her dishevelled state.

  'Would you like some tea?' she asked, more to divert his attention than because she wanted to prolong the business.

  'No thanks, we'd prefer to get straight on. Tim has a date tonight. Everything's to go, I presume? Can you show us what there is?'

  Janie had believed that all removal men drank copious amounts of tea. The ones who had brought her own things here and those who had packed Aunt Jane's antiques for storage had all seemed to stop for a cup between every trip to and from the van. But this way she'd be spared the chit chat.

  The two men worked silently, scarcely even talking to one another. There were not even the usual 'Your way a bit' or 'Ready now' comments. But they worked together well, just the occasional word from the one whose name she didn't know. Tim was totally silent, and Janie found herself wondering how on earth he managed on a date if he was always so taciturn.

  Very soon they were done, everything loaded. Janie came into the sitting room to find them rolling up the carpet.

  'I'm not taking that old thing,' she said quickly.

  'This old thing is probably worth a few pounds. Kashmiri, I'd guess. What do you think, Tim?'

  Tim nodded, and muttered something indistinguishable.

  'Tim knows his carpets. You ought to take it. I – we can store it for you if it's a nuisance in your new place. Could arrange to sell it, if you like.'

  'I really don't mind. Take it if you like.'

  'Of course, it would fetch more without mug handles caught in it,' the wretched man said, grinning, handing Janie a bit she'd missed.

  She almost snatched it from him, and slung it into a corner of the room. 'The bulldozers can have it.'

  He laughed. 'What's the address? Best if we have it, but we'll follow you, OK?'

  Sooner than she'd imagined, Janie's furniture was set up in the new flat. It looked rather crowded now, but at least her own stuff made it feel more like home. She reached for her purse. 'Thanks a lot. What do I owe you?'

  He didn't reply for a moment. 'Tell you what, I'll sell the carpet, and let you know whether we owe you, or the other way round. OK, Tim?'

  Tim nodded. 'So long,' he said, and walked out.

  'Are – aren't you going too?' Janie asked, a slight feeling of panic creeping into her mind. Where was the nearest weapon? Had she unpacked her kitchen knives? Could she get to them? She began to edge towards the door into the kitchen.

  'I live just round the corner, only a couple of minutes away, but I wondered whether you had a Band-Aid?'

  'Band-Aid?' What was he talking about?

  He held out his hand, and Janie could see a trickle of blood seeping from beneath a dirty strip of sticking plaster on his left wrist.

  'You'd better let me wash that before it gets infected.' Janie reached for her first aid box. 'How did it happen?'

  'I cut myself on your broken bit of mug, wasn't expecting it.'

  Janie felt horribly guilty. 'I'm sorry! I thought I'd picked it all up, really I did. But why is it still bleeding?'

  'I knocked it again just now. I thought perhaps a nurse might be able to do something about it.'

  'How did you know I'm a nurse?'

  'My – Mrs Kemp mentioned it. After you'd gone back in your cottage.'

  Janie frowned, tinglingly aware as she remembered the feel of his body when he'd pulled her from the window. As she bathed the wound, put on some salve, and covered it, she couldn't help noticing how smooth and well-shaped his hands were, not at all rough as she'd imagined a removal man's hands to be.

  'There, that should do. But change it once a day, until the cut closes.'

  'Yes, nurse! Now, you won't want to bother cooking tonight. There's a good restaurant just round the corner. I'll nip home to have a shower, and call for you in half an hour.'

  ***

  Chapter 2

  She had meant to refuse. She had tried to refuse. Janie still couldn't decide quite how she had come to agree to the astonishing invitation. But here she was, her hair swept up into a chic pleat, wearing her new dress. She'd bought the sleek, long-skirted blue silk dress last week, and had meant to save it for her friend Mandy's birthday party at a posh restaurant in Bristol next month. Instead, she'd chosen to wear it in a small, intimate Italian restaurant, lit romantically with pink candles, having dinner with a man whose name she didn't know. And it was no excuse to say it had been the easiest to find in her cases of clothes. She'd opened three cases before she'd found it.

  All she knew about the man sitting opposite her, in fact, was that he was handsome in a slightly foreign way, looked devastating in a dark grey suit, had an irresistible smile, and worked for some removal company. Now she came to think of it the name hadn't been on the plain white van, which had disappeared anyway. He had called for her and they had walked the short distance to the restaurant. Janie supposed she was glad she hadn't had to ride in the van.

  'Let's order, I can recommend the wild mushroom soup, and the chicken with tomatoes and prawns.'

  Janie was happy to accept these suggestions. She'd never eaten here, but this man seemed to know it well. Several of the waiters had smiled at him as they were being shown to their table.

  When they had ordered, and were drinking a smooth, fragrant white wine, he grinned. 'Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves,' he said. Had he read her mind? 'It's time to stop being incognito. I'm Manuel Wickham.'

  'Manuel? That's Spanish, isn't it?'

  'I'm three quarters Spanish. My mother and my father's mother were Spanish. We lived in Mexico when I was a child.'

  So that explained the slight accent, the hint of American. Janie suddenly recalled Mrs Kemp calling him 'man', Had she been using his name?

  'Mrs Kemp. Does she know?'

  'Know what? That I was raised partly in Mexico?'

  The way he lifted one eyebrow, and his lopsided grin, were doing wicked things to her. Men like this ought not to be let loose on susceptible females, she thought crossly. She would not allow herself to be beguiled by him. She hadn't time for a new relationship since she'd broken up with Robert, when he'd left to work in Australia and she'd refused to abandon her own career to go with him.

  Janie forced herself to concentrate. 'No! She said something to you, called you Man. Is that your name? Or a short form of it?'

  'My – Mrs Kemp would never shorten it. I expect she was interrupted. But yes, she does know my name.'

  It seemed rather odd. Mrs Kemp was not the sort of woman to be on first name terms with workmen. Before Janie could ask more, get to the bottom of this, she was interrupted.

  'Well, look who's here. Hello Janie. Did the move go well? I'd have thought you'd have been too knackered to have a night on the town.'

  Janie twisted round and glared at the man who'd tapped her on the shoulder. He was almost as tall as Manuel, but his eyes were too close together, and he had a permanent bad-tempered expression on his pale, slightly puffy face. He'd never ceased to torment her, jib
ing at her whenever they met, since she'd rejected his clumsy overtures ten years ago. She'd been sixteen and he, at more than twenty, had considered himself so much more sophisticated as well as being irresistible to inexperienced schoolgirls.

  'Everything's fine, thank you,' she replied curtly, and glanced at his companion. She'd met Christine Harker, who worked for a local travel agent, several times, but the younger girl didn't acknowledge her, staring instead at Manuel with a hungry expression on her face.

  'Won't you introduce us to your friend?' Brian asked.

  'Manuel Wickham, this is Brian Cook and Christine Harker.' Janie was abrupt. She was not going to explain either of the men to the other.

  'You must be new to the area,' Brian said. 'I thought I knew most of Janie's colleagues.'

  Janie fumed. He was fishing for information, implying he knew her better than in fact he did, and at the same time hinting that no one but a colleague would bother to take Janie out to dinner.

  Brian laid his hand on one of the other chairs at their table, as if he was about to pull it out. Janie opened her mouth to tell him he wasn't wanted, and never mind that it would sound rude, and give him the wrong impression about her relationship with her companion, but Manuel spoke first.

  'Quite new to the area,' he said in a cool voice. 'It was nice to meet you, but I think that's our waiter with the first course.'

  Flustered, Brian glanced round. There was a waiter hovering behind him, but he didn't carry anything. He spoke to Brian.

  'Your table is ready, sir. Over here, please.'

  Brian glanced suspiciously at Manuel.

  'Give Liz my regards,' he said to Janie. 'Your sister's become a very pretty girl.'

  Reluctantly he turned and followed the waiter to a table the far side of the room. The man came back to them.

  'Sir?' the waiter asked. 'You want something?'

  'Nothing more, thank you.'

  Their hands met briefly, and Janie watched, disbelieving, as the waiter murmured his thanks and slipped something into his pocket.

  'Did you call him over specially to get rid of Brian?' she asked.

  'It seemed the most polite way. Better than telling him that his company was irritating, and superfluous.'

  'But how did he know that was what you wanted? You didn't say anything at all to him!'

  'Matteo is astute enough to understand that I would not want to have my evening with you ruined by impertinent intrusions. The Italians are a romantic race.'

  Janie laughed. 'Whenever I want a waiter they ignore me.'

  'That I find hard to believe, a lovely girl like you.'

  Janie decided it was best to ignore this. 'So do barmen, who always prefer to serve a man standing behind me. But how did you know I wanted to get rid of him? He might have been a great friend.'

  'If that's how you greet your friends, how do you treat your enemies?'

  'He's neither,' she said swiftly. Well, he wasn't, was he. 'He's a sort of distant connection. We're not related. Not in any way.'

  'Good, then we can forget him. Tell me about your work. Do you specialise? Which hospital do you work at?'

  The next two hours sped by. It was only when they were walking back to her flat that Janie realised she knew nothing about Manuel, other than his tastes in films and music and holiday destinations. She didn't know where he lived, anything about his family, why he had left Mexico, and what brought him to live and work in this area. She felt annoyed, cheated. She wanted to know more. Had he been deliberately evasive?

  At the entrance to the flat, which had its own doorway to the street, she turned to say goodnight. She'd wondered whether to ask him in for coffee, but caution prevailed. He'd been helpful, polite, a charming and attentive host, but she didn't know him.

  'I won't come in, Janie, but I have enjoyed our evening, and hope you will dine with me again soon.'

  She looked at him gratefully. It would have been embarrassing to have appeared inhospitable. 'I've enjoyed it too. Thank you, and thank you as well for coming to my rescue today. I don't know what I'd have done without your help. And Tim's, of course.'

  'Our pleasure. I'll contact you soon about the sale of the carpet. Now go in, and sleep well in your new home.'

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. Janie gulped. No one had ever done that to her before, and somehow it was exciting in a way very different from a more demanding embrace.

  She turned to put her key in the door, and as it opened a voice could be heard, crying hysterically.

  'Someone is here?' Manuel asked urgently, holding her arm and preventing her from running inside. 'Be careful.'

  Janie shook her head. 'It's my sister, the answerphone. What on earth's the matter?'

  She ran into the living room but as she reached the machine the call ended. All she had been able to hear was a frantic plea to ring back at once. Janie pressed the play button, and waited impatiently for the tape to rewind. She was vaguely aware that Manuel had followed her in and shut the outer door, but her concern for her sister overrode all other considerations. What had happened now?

  At last the recorded message started. 'Janie, oh God, Janie, are you there? I have to speak to you. It's desperate. I'm in real trouble, and he'll kill me when he finds out. Janie, if you're there please pick up the phone. I need you, now, and I'm so scared. Janie, for God's sake, ring me, I don't know what to do!'

  The rest of the message consisted of a few words, interspersed with wild sobs, but so far as Janie could make them out they were mainly words like danger, afraid, and murder.

  As the message ended she turned to look at Manuel. He took her hand and led her over to the settee. 'Sit down, tell me about your sister. Where is she, and how old?

  'I have to go to her! You heard her! I must phone her.'

  'In a moment. You must be calm, for her sake. Don't worry, I'll take you in my car. It's probably faster than yours. But tell me a little first. Who is it she's afraid of?'

  Under his calm questioning Janie pulled herself together and tried to organise her thoughts.

  'Liz is twenty, six years younger than me. She shares a flat north of Bristol with an old schoolfriend. She's out of jobs more often than in them, and has a knack of attracting rotten men.'

  'They are violent towards her?'

  'The last one was. I thought she had a new one now.'

  'Ring her and find out. But try to stay calm.'

  Janie nodded and punched in the number. 'Liz? It's all right, we'll come and help. I only just got home. But what's the trouble?'

  'Oh, Janie, thank God. It's Terry.'

  'The new man? What's he done? Has he beaten you?'

  'No, not yet. But he'll kill me when he finds out what I've done!'

  She dissolved into tears and it was some time before Janie could get some sense out of her. Eventually Liz swallowed her sobs and explained.

  'I borrowed his car. He's away, he wasn't using it, and Mike, his flatmate, gave me the keys and said it would be OK. My car broke down and I had this new job, I didn't want to be late, it might be a permanent one. And you've always nagged me to get a proper job!'

  'OK, Liz, but what happened? Are you hurt?'

  'No, I'm fine now. I was shaken then, though.'

  'What happened? Janie asked, thinking of all sorts of disasters. Why did Liz seem to attract trouble?

  'On the way home this flash car cut in front of me and I braked hard, and the car skidded, and, oh Janie, I crashed into him. His car, I mean. And both of them, the cars, are write-offs.'

  'Was anyone hurt?' Janie interrupted. 'Are you OK? Really not hurt?'

  'Only scratches. From broken glass. The other driver broke his arm, but the hospital said it was a simple fracture. But Terry will kill me!'

  'It was an accident,' Janie tried to reassure her. 'And from what you say it sounds as though the other driver caused it. Surely Terry will understand?'

  'You don't know how much he loves that car! He went berserk and threa
tened all sorts of things when some kid on a bike knocked his wing mirror crooked. If the car had been going, I think he'd have chased him, but the kid went down that narrow alleyway, and Terry couldn't catch him on foot.'

  'Surely that's a bit excessive?'

  'He's so proud of that car! There aren't many of them around, he says, and the other car was an expensive one. It rolled right over.'

  Janie felt helpless. 'Surely it's not so bad, no one was seriously hurt, and the insurance will cover the damage to the cars.'

  Liz began to sob again. 'That's the trouble. Terry's car wasn't insured. He'd been meaning to send it off but he forgot. The other driver said he'd sue me for the damage, and loss of earnings, and injury and all sorts of other things I can't remember now. The police will prosecute me too, but Terry will go ballistic! Janie, I'm so scared!'

  'OK, calm down. Where's Terry now?'

  'He's in London. At a pal's stag party. He won't be back until tomorrow, unless someone from the police, or Mike, his flatmate, managed to get in touch with him. He might not miss the car if he's got a hangover, he might go straight to bed, but his flatmate knew I borrowed it. He gave me the keys.'

  'Yes, you said. So it was partly his fault. He could have known about the insurance. How did you find out if Terry's not there?'

  'When Mike came to collect the car. He told me then.'

  'So he did know. But I don't understand. How did he collect it? Was it still possible to drive it?'

  'No, but Mike has a repair garage. I rang him and he brought the breakdown truck. He said it would cost a lot to get anyone else, and we were causing an awful tailback.'

  Janie groaned. What sort of a person was this Mike, who knew the car was uninsured and still allowed Liz to drive it?

  Liz was crying again. 'Janie, it really wasn't my fault, but they'll all blame me, and the other driver said he'd sue me even though it was his fault. Can he do that? But anyway, if Terry finds me first I probably won't be alive to be sued!'