for writing historical novels, but how do you feel about working alone here?'
It was a perceptive question and took Debra by surprise. She realised that there might be more to Stuart Coltan than agile good looks and a rather brash line in self-confident flirtation. 'I don't mind working here,' she replied.
He studied her a moment and then took in all aspects of the leather-walled room. 'There's a certain atmosphere about this place and I bet you've noticed it.'
'Noticed what?' she murmured.
His eyes met hers. 'As if it might be— haunted.'
'That's your actor's imagination at work, Mr Coltan.'
'Is it?' He quirked an eyebrow. 'I bet when you're alone here and the dusk is beginning to make shadows you start to get jumpy. I reckon it's a crying shame that you've been tucked away among all these books about the past. You shouldn't put up with it, kid. If you act like a mouse then all you'll get out of life is other people's stale cheese.'
'Thanks for the pearl of wisdom,' she rejoined. 'I was offered another room to work in, but I happen to prefer this one. It's quiet and tucked away and I don't disturb anyone with my typing—nor does anyone disturb me,' she added pointedly.
'Am I disturbing you, honey?' He made the query sound suggestive.
'You know full well that you're disturbing my work, Mr Coltan.'
'What a let down, Miss Hartway, I did so hope that I was discomposing you.'
'It would take more than you to do that.' Debra rose to her feet and walked to the door, which she held open for his departure. 'Go and join your friends—especially Zandra. She'll have the bloodhounds out after you if you don't take care.'
'You don't have to worry about Zandra.' He strolled to the door and there he confronted Debra with his brazen smile. 'Your surname is a libel, do you know that? You don't know a thing about the ways of the heart.'
'Then that makes two of us, doesn't it?'
'Okay, Miss Heartless, but you haven't seen the last of me.' And as he passed by he quickly bent his head and planted a kiss on her mouth, then he sauntered off down the corridor, walking with the confidence of a young man who had decided that the world was his peach-tree and he was going to shake it for all he was worth.
Debra reluctantly smiled as she closed the door and returned to her typewriter. He was charming and insouciant, with a dash of East Side shrewdness which had already brought him a measure of success. Debra felt quite sure that he had already broken several hearts and gone casually on his way without looking back at the damage.
She slid carbons between sheets of manuscript paper and switched on the tape-recorder. Soon the sound of Jack Salvador's voice had dispelled the drawling tones of Stuart Coltan. She was into the third chapter of Savage By Night and the story grew stronger with each tape that she listened to. It saddened her that the author didn't come home to his little son and his new book, but if Rodare Salvador was right, then it was something to do with the failure of his marriage that made him reluctant to return to Abbeywitch.
Debra pondered the drama of it all as she worked away at Jack's fiction, and she couldn't help wondering if Pauline had deliberately drowned herself? Had Jack grown bored with her once the physical side of their marriage was satisfied and was that why he stayed away, because he was racked by doubt and the suspicion that his young wife had intentionally jumped from the side of the yacht?
Yet even as Debra reasoned it out, she couldn't quite believe that a lively showgirl would take her own life. It would be more feasible to imagine her taking a lover.
Debra's fingers paused on the keys and she gazed reflectively at the sun's rays picking out the sombre patterns on the jackets of her employer's many books of reference . . . the one piece of pattern that seemed to fit was that Lenora Salvador should be so sure that her clever son would in time find Pauline tedious, and it seemed to Debra that in
It was a perceptive question and took Debra by surprise. She realised that there might be more to Stuart Coltan than agile good looks and a rather brash line in self-confident flirtation. 'I don't mind working here,' she replied.
He studied her a moment and then took in all aspects of the leather-walled room. 'There's a certain atmosphere about this place and I bet you've noticed it.'
'Noticed what?' she murmured.
His eyes met hers. 'As if it might be— haunted.'
'That's your actor's imagination at work, Mr Coltan.'
'Is it?' He quirked an eyebrow. 'I bet when you're alone here and the dusk is beginning to make shadows you start to get jumpy. I reckon it's a crying shame that you've been tucked away among all these books about the past. You shouldn't put up with it, kid. If you act like a mouse then all you'll get out of life is other people's stale cheese.'
'Thanks for the pearl of wisdom,' she rejoined. 'I was offered another room to work in, but I happen to prefer this one. It's quiet and tucked away and I don't disturb anyone with my typing—nor does anyone disturb me,' she added pointedly.
'Am I disturbing you, honey?' He made the query sound suggestive.
'You know full well that you're disturbing my work, Mr Coltan.'
'What a let down, Miss Hartway, I did so hope that I was discomposing you.'
'It would take more than you to do that.' Debra rose to her feet and walked to the door, which she held open for his departure. 'Go and join your friends—especially Zandra. She'll have the bloodhounds out after you if you don't take care.'
'You don't have to worry about Zandra.' He strolled to the door and there he confronted Debra with his brazen smile. 'Your surname is a libel, do you know that? You don't know a thing about the ways of the heart.'
'Then that makes two of us, doesn't it?'
'Okay, Miss Heartless, but you haven't seen the last of me.' And as he passed by he quickly bent his head and planted a kiss on her mouth, then he sauntered off down the corridor, walking with the confidence of a young man who had decided that the world was his peach-tree and he was going to shake it for all he was worth.
Debra reluctantly smiled as she closed the door and returned to her typewriter. He was charming and insouciant, with a dash of East Side shrewdness which had already brought him a measure of success. Debra felt quite sure that he had already broken several hearts and gone casually on his way without looking back at the damage.
She slid carbons between sheets of manuscript paper and switched on the tape-recorder. Soon the sound of Jack Salvador's voice had dispelled the drawling tones of Stuart Coltan. She was into the third chapter of Savage By Night and the story grew stronger with each tape that she listened to. It saddened her that the author didn't come home to his little son and his new book, but if Rodare Salvador was right, then it was something to do with the failure of his marriage that made him reluctant to return to Abbeywitch.
Debra pondered the drama of it all as she worked away at Jack's fiction, and she couldn't help wondering if Pauline had deliberately drowned herself? Had Jack grown bored with her once the physical side of their marriage was satisfied and was that why he stayed away, because he was racked by doubt and the suspicion that his young wife had intentionally jumped from the side of the yacht?
Yet even as Debra reasoned it out, she couldn't quite believe that a lively showgirl would take her own life. It would be more feasible to imagine her taking a lover.
Debra's fingers paused on the keys and she gazed reflectively at the sun's rays picking out the sombre patterns on the jackets of her employer's many books of reference . . . the one piece of pattern that seemed to fit was that Lenora Salvador should be so sure that her clever son would in time find Pauline tedious, and it seemed to Debra that in
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