For a moment, the brilliance of the unexpected light blinded her; and then shock followed hard on the heels of her initial astonishment.
‘What took you so long?’ a cool male voice drawled nonchalantly. ‘I thought you’d be here hours ago.’
Campion blinked and stared at the man leaning against the wall; and then she blinked again, trying to clear her vision.
Guy French, here? Impossible! She must be imagining things. But no—for one thing, this morning he had been wearing a suit—a very dark wool suit with a crisp, white shirt and a neatly striped tie—and now he was wearing a disreputable pair of jeans and a very thick jumper over a checked wool shirt. He was even wearing wellingtons. She goggled slightly as she noticed this. No, she was most definitely not imagining things! Had her mind been playing tricks with her, and superimposed Guy’s image against the homely background of Helena’s cottage kitchen, she was sure it would not have also seen fit to dress him in anything other than the immaculate suits and shirts she always saw him wearing.
‘Guy.’
Furiously, she realised that he actually had the audacity to laugh at her. How dared he? And anyway, what was he doing here?
The grin that curled his mobile mouth brought her back to reality. Staring stonily at him, she said as cuttingly as she could, ‘I suppose this must be your idea of a joke, Guy, but quite frankly I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t understand what you’re doing here, but, since you are here, you’ll understand, I’m sure, when I tell you that I’m leaving.’
‘Not so fast!’
She had never dreamt he could move so quickly, nor that he could be strong. She gulped as he barred her way to the door by placing his body in front of it, and gripping her arms with both his hands.
‘Let go of me!’ She jerked back from him instinctively, her whole body tensing against his touch, her lips drawn back from her teeth in a feral snarl, her eyes spitting furious green sparks.
He looked at her, and seemed about to say something, and Campion tensed against a further sarcastic retort. But, to her surprise, he complied with her demand, gently pushing her back from him.
‘This is no joke,’ he told her calmly. ‘Far from it. I meant what I said about your manuscript, Campion. It’s got to be finished, and you need help to get it finished on time, you know that. Running away down here won’t solve anything.’
‘I’m not running away.’
How dared he suggest that? She longed to tell him that if it wasn’t for his relentless bullying she wouldn’t be here at all.
‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘If you must know, I’ve come here to work …’
‘Really? A sudden decision, I take it, since you didn’t see fit to inform me of it this morning …’
‘Perhaps with good reason,’ Campion told him nastily, adding bitterly, ‘What business of yours is it where I do my work, Guy?’
‘Since I’m your agent, for the moment, I should say it was very much my business,’ he responded mildly. ‘You won’t solve anything by running away, you know.’
This was the second time he had made that accusation. Through gritted teeth, Campion told him curtly, ‘I am not running away. I’ve come here to work. Alone …’ She waved the typing paper at him. ‘See … I’ve even done some dictating on the way down here, and if you don’t mind, I’d now like to get it typed up …’
‘Dictating … Something along the lines we discussed, I hope …’
Campion refused to answer him.
‘Ah, I see … Just as well I’m here, then, isn’t it?’
A tiny sensation of something alien and rather alarming skittered down her spine, and Campion turned to look at him.
‘Why are you here, Guy?’ she asked him slowly. ‘And how did you know that I’d decided to come here?’
‘Simple—Mabel told me.’
‘Mabel?’ Campion stared at him.
‘Yes. I went round this afternoon to collect Helena’s post and go through it for her, and Mabel told me that you’d been round for the cottage keys. Luckily, she had a second set.’
He was dangling them from the tip of one strong, long finger, and a feeling of weakness and disbelief filled Campion as she stared at him.
‘And so you decided to come down here yourself … but why?’
‘Do you remember any of what I said to you this morning?’ he asked her softly.
Did she remember? How could she forget?
‘Yes.’ Her terse answer made him smile slightly, and for one mad moment she had to stop herself from responding to that strange little smile.
‘Then you’ll remember that I told you I’d given the publishers my word that your manuscript would be on their desk on time …’
‘Yes,’ she agreed woodenly, remembering, too, that she had told him it was impossible. That was when they had had their argument about her having a secretary.
‘I even offered you the services of a secretary to help you,’ he added gently.
Campion’s chest swelled with indignation and fury.
‘I don’t want a secretary!’ she told him through bared teeth. ‘I don’t work that way. I don’t need any help with this book, Guy.’
‘Oh, yes, you do,’ he told her unequivocably. ‘But you’re right, you don’t need a secretary; at least, not the kind I had in mind.’
He was looking at her in a way that made danger signals race from one nerve-ending to another, and a tiny prickle of awareness of him touched her skin. He was standing too close to her, and she instinctively took a step back from him. He smiled when he saw her betraying movement, but there was no humour in his smile.
‘Tell me something,’ he encouraged softly. ‘Your heroines, Campion, do they have much of you in them? Or to put it another way—do you imagine yourself to be them when you’re writing?’
A hot wave of colour scalded her skin before she could hold it back.
‘No,’ she told him forcefully. ‘No, I don’t. Why do you ask?’
‘All in good time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s going on for two, and I, for one, am tired. I think we’ll both be in a better frame of mind to discuss things in the morning. I’ve taken the smaller bedroom. Women always seem to need more room.’
The smaller bedroom? Campion gaped at him.
‘You’re … you’re not staying here?’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Of course I am! Where else would I be staying?’
‘But—you can’t.’
‘Can’t?’ He smiled grimly at her.
‘All right, so you can stay,’ Campion amended, ‘but I’m not staying with you.’ She headed for the door, determined to walk over him to get it open, if she had to. But she was brought to an abrupt halt as he virtually swung her off her feet, and deposited her down on the floor again with such force that her teeth actually rattled.
‘Now, let’s get one thing straight,’ he told her savagely, all pretence of calm good humour stripped from him now. ‘I’ve given my word, both professionally and personally, that your manuscript will be delivered on time. I’ve laid myself out on the line for you and your damn book, Campion, and no matter what it takes, you are going to deliver …’
No