Wild Melody (17 page)

Catriona shook her head, her cheeks flaming. 'I thought that you

could—perhaps—get someone to do something for us—on television. An

appeal, something like that. You know so many people . . .'

He gave a small explosive laugh.
'Television!
' he began as the kitchen door

banged open under the impact of Moira's entrance.

'I see.' Her voice dripped acid. 'Hiding away with our little prima donna.

What curious places you do choose for your assignations, Jason darling!

Aren't you coming back to the party? We're all desolate without you.'

'Hush, my sweet.' Jason took a meditative sip from his glass. 'Miss Muir is

appealing on behalf of her favourite charity.'

'How touching! You should have said something earlier, Miss Muir. We

could have passed a hat round after your song.'

The words were an insult in themselves, but the tone in which they were

uttered cut Catriona to the bone. She lifted her chin and attempted a brave

imitation of her smile.

'What a pity I didn't think of it. I'll say goodnight now, Miss Dane. Thank

you for inviting me to your party. It's been—quite an experience.'

As she walked past Moira to reach the door, the actress moved her arm

slightly and some of the liquid in the glass she was holding splashed down

the front of Catriona's white dress.

'Oh, no!' Catriona looked down at the soaking stains through a hot blur of

tears. Everything was suddenly ruined —her plea to Jason and now this

lovely dress. And she had humiliated herself for nothing. Jason's scathing

remarks revealed plainly that he had neither forgiven nor forgotten, and the

hurt that was filling her being was not entirely to do with injured pride'.

She started blindly for the living room and started when his hand descended

on her arm.

'I'll take you home,' he said.

'No!' she cried, trying to wrench herself free.

'Don't argue, and don't make a scene. You'd be out of your depth in this

company,' he said. He was steering her quickly through the laughing,

chattering groups, calling goodnight, responding to the sympathetic noises

from some of the women when they saw the state of Catriona's dress. She

went with him mechanically, waiting silently while he fetched her wrap,

damming back the tears as they waited for the lift to take them down to

ground level again.

They were in the car and driving back to the flat before Jason spoke.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

She shook her head. 'There's no need to be.'

'That crack about your charity appeal was unnecessary,' he said abruptly.

'It's the sort of language Moira understands. I forget that you're not in her

league.' He glanced down at her. 'And I'm sorry about your dress too.'

'Well, that certainly wasn't your fault,' she said haltingly.

'No?' He smiled faintly.

'And it's not my dress. It's Sally's, and that's what makes it so—awful.' She

could not quite suppress the sob in her voice.

'Young Sal won't blame you. She knows Moira too well,' he said.

She looked at him sideways under her lashes, puzzled at this rather edged

reference to the woman he was supposed to be in love with. Perhaps when

your face and body were as beautiful as Moira's, men did not mind so much

about your character, she thought. It was unlikely any way that the kindness

and consideration for the other person's feelings that Aunt Jessie had always

laid stress upon would have any place in their sort of relationship. She

swallowed painfully, hating the picture of them together that her

imagination was creating.

When they arrived back at the flat, Jason parked in the street below and

switched off the engine.

Catriona looked at him uncertainly. 'Thank you for bringing me home,' she

said formally.

'Aren't you going to invite me in?'

Her uncertainty increased. 'I—I—do you want some coffee?'

'Not particularly. I thought you wanted to talk to me about the Henderson

Trust and its problems.'

'I didn't think you were interested.'

'Don't sulk.' He reached out and tugged slightly at one silky strand of hair.

'I'm here and I'm ready to listen. Do I get invited in?'

'Yes,' she said, her heart pounding unevenly at the thought of being alone

with him again.

Upstairs in the living room, he put a light to the gas fire and then walked

across to the kitchen alcove and picked up the kettle.

'I'll cope with the coffee while you try and salvage Sal's dress,' Jason tossed

at her over his shoulder.

When she emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, wrapped from

throat to ankle in her dressing gown, he was placing two steaming mugs on

a tray and carrying them to the settee. He lifted an inquiring eyebrow at her.

'The label said washable, so I have it soaking in cold water. I'll just have to

hope for the best,' she said. 'Please excuse the way I look.'

'But it didn't seem worth getting dressed again as you'll be going to bed soon

anyway,' he finished for her, and laughed. 'Don't jump like that, Catriona, or

you'll spill scalding coffee all over yourself.'

She knew she was blushing and sat down at the opposite end of the settee, as

far away from him as she could get, swathing the folds of her dressing gown

around her feet.

Jason leaned back, stretching his long legs to the fire and closing his eyes.

The only source of light came from a small table lamp in the corner, and the

shadowy room accentuated the planes and angles of his dark face in a

disturbing manner.

Watching him, Catriona was assailed by a wave of longing so intense that it

threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes lingered over his face, coming to rest

at last on the firm, aggressive lines of his mouth. The memory of that mouth

and the sensations it could evoke brought a tremulousness to her own lips

and a softness to her eyes. She had never known what it was to want a man

before. Her aunt had always hinted that it was only men who had needs and

desires to be assuaged, but Catriona knew now that this was far from the

truth.

'I thought you wanted to talk.' His voice held lazy amusement and with a

shock of embarrassment she realised he was quite aware of her regard.

'What more can I tell you?'

'All the facts. I have a feeling that you've been holding out on me. So far I've

gathered that money exists to finance this—altruistic venture. All well and

good. So why isn't it doing so?'

'There simply isn't enough any more,' she said lamely.

'Is that the real reason—or is cash being deliberately withheld, perhaps

because the Trust feel there is some sort of wastage or mismanagement

going on?'

'Certainly not!' Catriona spoke indignantly. 'Mrs Henderson may not

approve of the work at the centre, but she wouldn't stoop to anything like

that.'

'Ah,' he murmured, reaching for his coffee. 'So Mrs Henderson doesn't

approve? Then why doesn't she have the Trust wound up? That seems the

obvious procedure.'

'Because she would be betraying her late husband's wishes,' Catriona said

stiffly. 'And that's part of the trouble. Mr Henderson thought the money he

had left in trust would be enough, without applying to outside sources. He

just didn't visualise what inflation was going to do.'

'Epitaph for a philanthropist,' Jason said shortly. 'So what you're all really

attempting is a rescue at the eleventh hour from the fruits of improvidence.'

Catriona looked at him defiantly. 'You could put it like that.'

'I could put it more strongly still,' he returned. 'Surely this

fellow—Milner—who rims the place could see the way things were going?'

'Andrew has other things to think about, apart from money,' Catriona

defended him.

'Lucky Andrew. Tell me, does he know you're asking me for help like this?'

'Oh, no,' she said quickly. 'It was all my own idea. I—I didn't say anything

deliberately in case you refused. But you will help—won't you?'

He swallowed the rest of his coffee and put the cup down on the table. 'I'm

sorry, Catriona, I left the magic wand in another suit.' He saw her bite her lip

and lifted his hand resignedly. 'I'm sorry—that was flip, I know, but it's also

true. There is no instant solution to this sort of problem. All I can promise is

that I'll think it over and have a word with a few people who may have ideas

of their own.' He gave her a considering look. 'But I think any kind of direct

appeal is out. What we come up with may not be entirely acceptable. Have

you thought of that?'

'All that matters is that it should work,' she said almost fiercely.

'So the end justifies the means. That's a ruthless point of view coming from

you,' he said, smiling faintly. 'Does it mean so much to you, then?'

She thought of silent, unhappy Mitch nursing her guitar with empty eyes,

and Linda with her baby and all the other people for whom the centre was

perhaps the only refuge in a hostile world.

'Yes,' she said simply. 'It means a lot.'

She thought she heard him sigh, but she must have been mistaken because

when she looked at him he was smiling again, but that unpleasant, sardonic

smile that always disturbed her.

'And in return?' he asked softly.

'I—I don't understand.' She shook her head slightly so that her hair swung

like a silken veil between them.

'I thought you were the girl who didn't like to be under an obligation.' He got

up. In the half-light, he seemed taller than ever. 'Yet, if I do come up with

something, you'll be deeper in debt to me than ever. And a day's housework

will hardly cover it this time—so what did you have in mind?'

Catriona swallowed. The room seemed so quiet suddenly that she thought

she could hear the sound of her own tumultuous heartbeats. Why was she

hesitating? Every nerve, every pulse in her body was telling her that she

wanted him. And yet not like this—a casual encounter, something seemed

to cry inside her, prompted by a brief transitory desire on his side, and

supposed gratitude on hers. But perhaps this was all there was for her. She

might want more, but she was still sane enough to recognise that she could

be crying for the moon.

'Well?' he prompted quietly.

She rose slowly to her feet, automatically tightening the belt of her

housecoat with fingers that shook. He stood, his hands resting lightly on his

hips, watching her walk towards him, but he made no attempt to touch her,

even when she was barely inches away from him.

She paused uncertainly, looking up into his face, trying to read his

enigmatic expression.

'I—I'll do anything you want,' she said huskily.

He reached out and lifted the heavy fall of hair back from her face, letting

his hand stroke her throat and the delicate line of her jaw.

'Convince me,' he whispered.

Mutely, she lifted her face and he bent to her, touching her mouth with his in

a kiss that was as light as a drifting leaf. His hand moved under her hair,

clasping the nape of her neck, pulling her towards him as his kiss deepened,

lengthened and possessed. His hands slid the length of her body from her

shoulders to her hips, moulding her against him in a slow, sweet fusion that

made her tinglingly aware of his desire for her.

'See the effect you have on me,' he whispered. She blushed, hiding her face

against him, but he slipped a hand under her chin, forcing it up so that they

could kiss again, before he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the settee.

Lying half beside him, half across him, she gave herself up to Jason's kisses.

His mouth explored the contours of her face, then teased the pulse in her

throat. His fingers caressed her bare neck, lingering over the faint mark the

chain had made when she snapped it.

'So you didn't need it after all,' he murmured.

'I've worn it for so long, I feel strange without it,' she confessed, aware that

her voice was trembling.

'Wear this instead.' He bent his head and pressed his mouth to the shadowed

hollow between her breasts where Jeremy's ring had lain.

A long, sweet shiver ran through her entire body, but in spite of herself she

felt a growing tension building up deep inside her. Beyond this was the point

of no return, and she was frightened of her own inexperience and the

demands that might be made of it.

Jason's lips and hands were suddenly asking questions for which she no

longer had the answers and finally, with a little cry of protest, she twisted

away from the urgency of his caresses and stumbled to her feet, wrapping

the housecoat round her body in an instinctive gesture of protectiveness.

'Catriona?' He got up, raking reluctant fingers through his dishevelled hair.

'Darling, what is it?'

'I—I don't know.' Her voice wavered, sounding strained and unfamiliar.

'I—I just—can't. . .' She broke down, covering her face with her hands.

There was a long, grim silence. When at last she ventured to look up, he had

moved away to the opposite side of the fireplace, and was standing, smoking