‘I don’t know what you mean—’
‘No? Then let me tell you about this afternoon. I’ve been working with your father for days, and for some time it’s been obvious that his mind isn’t exactly on his job. Then today I called in at his office to discuss some things I needed to talk over with him. He made it plain that I’d have to make it quick—that he couldn’t be late home—and it wasn’t long before I realised that he wasn’t paying me any attention at all. In fact, his thoughts were miles away. In the end he just gave up pretending to listen and suggested that we continued our discussion at his home.’
‘So what’s wrong with that? Dad often brings work home if it’s late.’
‘It was barely five o’clock. His secretary hadn’t even finished work for the day, but Lloyd Davies, the boss of the whole outfit, says he has to go home—he’s worried about his daughter.’
The disturbing note in Evan’s voice scraped over Catherine’s exposed nerves, worsening their already raw sensitivity, and she found it impossible to meet that probing, searching gaze, concentrating instead on smoothing and folding a crumpled teatowel that lay on the draining-board, arranging it with over-meticulous care.
‘Naturally, I assumed from his concern that his daughter was a young girl—school-age at most, maybe even younger—so you can imagine my surprise when I find she’s not a child but a fully grown woman of twenty-six, someone well old enough—’
‘My father and I are very close,’ Catherine broke in on him, unable to face the prospect of the inevitable questions that she knew were coming. ‘It’s probably because the age-gap between us is so small.’
‘It’s more than that.’
‘Are you implying—?’
‘I’m implying nothing—just curious.’
‘Look, my mother left when I was barely five, and Dad and I have been together ever since. Naturally, we’re very close—very dependent—though I don’t suppose you’d understand that.’
‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ The very quietness of Evan’s words was ominous, sending a shiver of apprehension down Catherine’s spine.
‘Well, you said you’d joined the army to get away from home. Just because you and your parents—or at least your father—didn’t get on it doesn’t mean you can judge my relationship with Dad by the same standards.’
That was definitely below the belt, she admitted privately, but refused to let herself feel guilty. After all, he had only himself to blame—he had started this line of questioning.
‘And now, if you don’t mind, I think we’ve delayed long enough. I’d like to drink my coffee before it’s completely stone-cold—even if you wouldn’t.’
And, not giving him a chance to say any more, she turned on her heel and marched off down the hall, not daring to look back to see the effect her words had had on him.
She had left him with no option but to follow, but she was pretty certain that Evan Lindsay was not the sort of man to let things rest. And from the expression on his face as he set the tray down on the coffee-table in the lounge she was worryingly aware of the fact that, far from appeasing his curiosity, she had in fact only stirred it further.
Privately she cursed her own nervousness, the tension that had driven her to overreact, responding to his questions in a way that had fuelled his interest, fanning it from a slowly smouldering ember to a brightly burning flame that would not easily be extinguished. Her stomach twisted itself into tight, painful knots of apprehension, anticipating with a terrible sense of inevitability the interrogation that she was sure must come.
She didn’t have to wait long. She had barely had time to pour the coffee and hand a cup to Evan, serving him, as their guest, first, as courtesy demanded, before the moment she had dreaded arrived.
Leaning back in his chair with a deceptively convincing display of relaxed ease, he sipped at his drink, his expression thoughtful, then he turned those turquoise eyes on her face once more, the look in them alerting her to what was to come.
‘It’s been a beautiful week hasn’t it?’ he asked easily, and, taken completely by surprise because she had been expecting something else entirely, Catherine could only manage an inarticulate murmur that might have been agreement.
Her father, however, apparently oblivious to the dark, swirling undercurrents she sensed, nodded enthusiastically.
‘Summer’s finally here, it seems—and not before time. Last month was so wet and miserable—hardly flaming June! But it’s certainly making up for it now.’
‘So it seems.’
Catherine knew that she was actually gaping in confusion. She couldn’t believe her ears. Surely Evan didn’t actually intend to conduct a conversation about the weather?
‘And, of course, the light evenings are a real bonus.’
‘They certainly are.’ The darkly sardonic intonation in Evan’s voice grated on Catherine’s raw nerves.
‘Dad-’
Belatedly she had caught on to the path Evan was following, the way his mind was working, and she tried to inject a note of warning into the single word, signalling to her father with her eyes as she did so. But Lloyd seemed oblivious to her concern.
‘Would you like a biscuit, Mr Lindsay?’ she asked, the words hissing from between clenched teeth as she turned a fulminating glare on him.
‘No thanks,’ he returned blithely. ‘But I would like an explanation.’
‘An explanation?’ Catherine’s father frowned his lack of comprehension.
‘Mr Lindsay seems to think that we’re hiding something, Dad. Either that or we’re quite unnatural simply because we happen to care about each other.’
‘But, Cathy, don’t you think—?’
‘No!’ With difficulty she stopped herself from screaming the word at him. ‘I don’t think we should give Mr Lindsay an explanation of anything—not that there is anything to explain…’ She covered herself hastily and clumsily in nervous response to the gleam of triumph that lit up in Evan’s eyes. ‘And even if there was, then it’s none of his business.’
‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ Evan inserted blandly, setting down his coffee-cup and leaning forward to emphasise his point. ‘You see, I think your father made it my business when he invited me here on the pretext of discussing matters that could easily have waited until tomorrow.’
‘Made what your business?’ Catherine made one last attempt at pretending that nothing was wrong.
‘I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out. From the moment that I first set foot in this house, it’s been obvious that something is very wrong.’
‘Oh, come now, Mr Lindsay, surely you’re exaggerating? There’s nothing—’
‘Nothing?’
One dark eyebrow lifted in an expression of mocking disbelief, and Catherine had the uncomfortable feeling that even though Evan hadn’t moved from his chair he had, mentally at least, backed her into a very tight corner indeed.
‘All right, we’ll take things logically,’ he said in a dangerously quiet voice. ‘One—your father’s been like a cat on hot bricks all afternoon—barely listening to a word I’ve said, and certainly not giving his work the concentration it deserved.
‘Two—’ he ticked off each point as he made it, using the outstretched fingers of his left hand ‘—he had to rush home to look after his daughter—at five p.m.