She would probably have nightmares, but as she tried to settle herself in the lumpy old chair she wondered why she should worry about bad dreams when she was already trapped in this waking nightmare.
CHAPTER THREE
Pattie had a restless night. Her aches and pains and the stress of her situation would have made it hard for her to sleep peacefully in the most luxurious of beds, but stuck in an old armchair it was a wonder she slept at all. And there was nothing better. A large sofa stood at the other end of the room, long enough to stretch out on, but Victorian horsehair, which meant it was as hard as a board and weighed a ton. Pattie didn’t think she could drag it to the fire. She had to be by the fire, and she was sure that if she tried Duncan Keld would hear her and might come down to see what she was doing.
She dreaded that. She didn’t expect to see him again before morning, but she knew that if there was any sound of movement in the rooms above, much less of footsteps on the stairs, she would be scared out of her wits.
He didn’t fancy her. She wasn’t his type. The state she was in now she couldn’t see how she could be anybody’s type, but as he’d said, she was a woman and she was here, and suppose he got drunk. There were several bottles down here on the Welsh dresser in the kitchen. There might be more upstairs, and he looked the sort who might get drunk. Pattie did have nightmares. They were wild and violent, and she woke from them with every sense alert, straining to hear and staring into the shadows.
As soon as it began to get light she went into the kitchen, scooped up snow from the drift that had blown against the door in the night and heated it in the kettle. She was listening all the while. She could only guess at the time, somewhere between six and seven, she thought, because her watch was in her jewel case in the car. She didn’t wear a wrist-watch, she had a slim gold modern fob-watch that hung on a chain round her neck. The chain belonged to her amulet. She had been wearing that, and she was so glad she had because she couldn’t have left that behind. Somehow or other she would have dug down for that.
There were still two wrapped loaves, and a half loaf, and after she had washed she spread herself a slice of bread and butter which she had to force down. She didn’t know whether it was because it was Duncan Keld’s food that made everything so unappetising, she wanted nothing of his, or because she had just lost all appetite. She might have picked at a dish that was cooked and served daintily, as a convalescent would, but scraping rock-hard butter, and trying to make it adhere to three days old bread turned her stomach. She couldn’t face cheese or bacon, she couldn’t really face anything, but she did boil the kettle and make tea and take a mug of that back to the fire.
Before he got down she looked around for something to read today, and wished she had the courage to help herself to pen and paper. The paper on the table was covered with writing or typing, but there would surely be a supply in the drawers, and what was a sheet or two of paper? It was enough to spark off a row, that’s what it was. He was just looking for excuses to insult her, and if she opened the drawers of his work-table she would be asking for it.
But she did find some old National Geographic magazines and took those to her spot by the fireplace, then she heard him coming downstairs and sat, arms folded and fingers gripping. He walked through the room as though it was empty and Pattie thought, that’s what I’ve got to do, I’ve got to block him out the way he does me, and tell myself he isn’t there.
Only it was impossible.' She didn’t have to look, but she couldn’t close her ears. She leafed through a magazine, but she could hear him clattering around in the kitchen, and smell bacon frying. That made her queasier than ever. She was glad he stayed where he was to eat it, but she was still following
CHAPTER THREE
Pattie had a restless night. Her aches and pains and the stress of her situation would have made it hard for her to sleep peacefully in the most luxurious of beds, but stuck in an old armchair it was a wonder she slept at all. And there was nothing better. A large sofa stood at the other end of the room, long enough to stretch out on, but Victorian horsehair, which meant it was as hard as a board and weighed a ton. Pattie didn’t think she could drag it to the fire. She had to be by the fire, and she was sure that if she tried Duncan Keld would hear her and might come down to see what she was doing.
She dreaded that. She didn’t expect to see him again before morning, but she knew that if there was any sound of movement in the rooms above, much less of footsteps on the stairs, she would be scared out of her wits.
He didn’t fancy her. She wasn’t his type. The state she was in now she couldn’t see how she could be anybody’s type, but as he’d said, she was a woman and she was here, and suppose he got drunk. There were several bottles down here on the Welsh dresser in the kitchen. There might be more upstairs, and he looked the sort who might get drunk. Pattie did have nightmares. They were wild and violent, and she woke from them with every sense alert, straining to hear and staring into the shadows.
As soon as it began to get light she went into the kitchen, scooped up snow from the drift that had blown against the door in the night and heated it in the kettle. She was listening all the while. She could only guess at the time, somewhere between six and seven, she thought, because her watch was in her jewel case in the car. She didn’t wear a wrist-watch, she had a slim gold modern fob-watch that hung on a chain round her neck. The chain belonged to her amulet. She had been wearing that, and she was so glad she had because she couldn’t have left that behind. Somehow or other she would have dug down for that.
There were still two wrapped loaves, and a half loaf, and after she had washed she spread herself a slice of bread and butter which she had to force down. She didn’t know whether it was because it was Duncan Keld’s food that made everything so unappetising, she wanted nothing of his, or because she had just lost all appetite. She might have picked at a dish that was cooked and served daintily, as a convalescent would, but scraping rock-hard butter, and trying to make it adhere to three days old bread turned her stomach. She couldn’t face cheese or bacon, she couldn’t really face anything, but she did boil the kettle and make tea and take a mug of that back to the fire.
Before he got down she looked around for something to read today, and wished she had the courage to help herself to pen and paper. The paper on the table was covered with writing or typing, but there would surely be a supply in the drawers, and what was a sheet or two of paper? It was enough to spark off a row, that’s what it was. He was just looking for excuses to insult her, and if she opened the drawers of his work-table she would be asking for it.
But she did find some old National Geographic magazines and took those to her spot by the fireplace, then she heard him coming downstairs and sat, arms folded and fingers gripping. He walked through the room as though it was empty and Pattie thought, that’s what I’ve got to do, I’ve got to block him out the way he does me, and tell myself he isn’t there.
Only it was impossible.' She didn’t have to look, but she couldn’t close her ears. She leafed through a magazine, but she could hear him clattering around in the kitchen, and smell bacon frying. That made her queasier than ever. She was glad he stayed where he was to eat it, but she was still following
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