Storm Force

Storm Force
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Endpage

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT, MAGGIE,’ Philip Munroe’s tone was plaintive, ‘do you actually mean you’re leaving me in the lurch?’

Maggie counted to ten under her breath. ‘No, Philip,’ she said courteously. ‘I mean I’m taking some leave. A holiday that I’ve had booked for months, and which you’ve known all about for the same length of time.’

‘But this is an emergency. Kylie St John is flying in tomorrow, and she’ll want to know what we think about the new book.’

‘The readers’ reports and my detailed memorandum are on your desk, attached to the script.’

‘I know that,’ Philip said fretfully. ‘I’ve seen them. They say that the whole middle section needs to be completely re-written.’

‘They do indeed,’ Maggie agreed cordially.

‘But I can’t tell her that. It’s not the kind of news she wants to hear from me.’

Maggie smiled gently, pushing her red hair back from her forehead. ‘Of course not. You have Maggie, the mad axe-woman, to do your dirty work with the authors, then you take them to lunch at the Connaught and kiss their egos better. It’s a great system. Only I’m spending the next three weeks in Mauritius, and you’ll have to wield the axe yourself for once.’

‘But surely you could delay your flight for forty-eight hours. I’ll get my secretary to ring the travel agent and …’

‘I could do nothing of the sort,’ Maggie said tersely. ‘You seem to be overlooking the fact that I am not going to Mauritius alone.’

Philip stared at her. ‘Oh, of course, you’re going with Whatsit. I’d forgotten.’

‘His name,’ said Maggie, holding on to her temper with a superhuman effort, ‘is Robin.’

‘But I’m sure if matters were explained to him, he’d understand.’

‘Why should he? I don’t even understand myself.’

There was a loaded silence. Then Philip tried again. ‘Kylie St John,’ he began, ‘is probably our most successful author.’

‘She’s also extremely temperamental, very tough, and a professional to her fingertips. Don’t let her browbeat you,’ Maggie advised, picking up her briefcase. ‘Now, I’m going home to finish packing.’

‘And is that your final word?’

Maggie groaned. ‘Please don’t sound so wounded,’ she said. ‘This is my first vacation in two and a half years.’

‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it,’ Philip said warmly. ‘No one’s worked harder than you, darling, to put the firm on its feet. I’ve always been able to rely on you totally.’

‘Good old Maggie—everybody’s friend,’ Maggie muttered.

‘Well—if you want to put it that way.’

‘No,’ she said roundly. ‘This is the way I want to put it, Philip. I am going on holiday with the man I love. You are going to deal with Kylie the Terrible. Call it your baptism of fire,’ she added, as she swirled through the door, and down to her waiting cab.

Traffic was heavy, and she sat back in the corner of the taxi, looking out of the window with unseeing eyes.

It would do Philip no harm to stiffen his sinews and summon up the blood when dealing with some of the formidable ladies on their fiction list, she thought, defensively.

In any case, there was no way she was going to do anything to put her holiday in Mauritius in jeopardy. It had taken weeks of patient and subtle manoeuvring to get Robin to the stage of accepting the idea of a joint vacation anywhere.

She adored him, of course, but sometimes the old-fashioned principles rigorously instilled by his elderly mother were a little hard to take. And Robin loved her, she knew. There was a tacit agreement that—one day—they would be married. Perhaps the romantic surroundings of Mauritius would provide the spur he needed to make their engagement official, she thought wistfully. Especially if Mama wasn’t around to ask why he needed to get married, when he was so comfortable at home with her …

Oh, don’t be such a bitch, she adjured herself impatiently. Mrs Hervey can’t be expected to look forward eagerly to losing her only son to another woman. She’s come to depend on him, perhaps too much.

But I wish I could believe that, underneath, she likes me really, she added, with a little sigh.

She paid off the driver outside the block of flats where she lived, and dived up to the first floor.

Mrs Hervey would have every reason for disapproval if she could see the state of the flat, Maggie had to acknowledge as she dashed into the bedroom. It looked as if a bomb had hit it. She must have packed and unpacked her case at least half a dozen times. She had planned and looked forward to this holiday for such a long time, and bought loads of new clothes. So many, in fact, that they were almost like a trousseau, she thought, crossing her fingers surreptitiously. The problem was choosing the exact outfits to stir Robin to his very soul.

Well, it’s decision time now, she told herself. You’ll have to be at the airport in a few hours.

She was just rolling one of her new bikinis into a neat tube and stowing it into a corner of her case when the front door buzzer sounded.

She straightened, frowning. She wasn’t expecting any callers. Surely Philip hadn’t followed her home to make a last-ditch attempt to persuade her to change her mind?

‘I’ll kill him if so,’ she muttered between clenched teeth.

‘Yes?’ she said curtly into the intercom.

‘Vice Squad. Open up,’ said her brother-in-law’s familiar drawl.

‘Sebastian?’ she squealed, and opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Hello, Ginger.’ Sebastian Kirby bent and pecked her on the cheek. ‘I phoned your office from the hotel, but they said you’d left for the day. Not ill, are you?’

‘On the contrary, I’m going on holiday.’

‘Really?’ Sebastian’s brows rose, and he looked frankly taken aback. ‘Won’t the hovel be a little bleak in October?’

‘The cottage,’ Maggie said with emphasis, ‘is perfectly fine at any time of year. But, as it happens, I’m not going there for once. I’m heading for the sun. Mauritius, to be exact.’

‘Going alone?’ Sebastian followed her into the bedroom, and picked up another bikini, surveying it with a grin. ‘Very—er, basic.’

‘No.’ Maggie’s tone held a hint of challenge, as she snatched the tiny garment from him. ‘I’m going with Robin.’

‘Good lord!’ Sebastian said blankly. ‘You mean Mummy’s actually let him off the leash at last?’ He encountered Maggie’s baleful look, and flung up his hands. ‘OK. I’m sorry and it’s none of my business. But neither Louie nor I can understand what you see in that stuffed shirt. However, if he makes you happy …’

‘He does,’ Maggie said levelly.

‘Then have a wonderful holiday.’ Sebastian sent her a placatory smile. ‘Why don’t I make us both some coffee?’

‘Where is Louie? Why isn’t she with you?’ Maggie asked as he returned with a tray a few minutes later. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’ she added with sudden alarm. ‘And the baby?’

‘They’re both blooming,’ Sebastian reassured her. ‘But we both felt it was better for her to stay in New York this time.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘I’m here on business, Mags, trouble-shooting for a major client. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the headlines.’

‘Headlines?’ Maggie gave him a puzzled look as she took her beaker of coffee, then her brows snapped together in a thunderous frown. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re here to rescue that bastard Jay Delaney.’

Sebastian perched on a corner of the dressing-table. ‘That’s a fairly harsh judgement.’

‘Harsh?’ Maggie echoed in disbelief. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Seb. He got drunk and raped a girl. You can’t possibly be on his side.’

‘I can and I am,’ Sebastian told her levelly. ‘He may have been accused of rape, admittedly, but that doesn’t mean he’s guilty. No charges have been brought yet.’

‘Of course he’s guilty,’ Maggie said impatiently. ‘It’s perfectly obvious what happened. He’s the big macho television star who’s totally irresistible to women, and for once a girl tried to say no to him. And naturally his over-sized masculine ego couldn’t take rejection. I hope he gets all that’s coming to him.’

Sebastian stared at her. ‘What’s happened to the idea of someone being innocent until proved otherwise? Where’s your womanly compassion?’

‘I’m keeping that for his unfortunate victim.’ Maggie wrestled to close the lid of her case. ‘And if you’re here to try to do a public relations whitewash job …’

‘There’ll be no whitewash,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘Jay has agreed to “help the police with their enquiries”, to use the classic phrase. I’m here to see that he’s protected from the more virulent attacks of the gutter Press, that’s all.’

‘What a job,’ Maggie said bitterly. ‘Minder to an over-sexed yob, with a three-day growth and sprayed-on jeans.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Mags.’ Sebastian looked shaken. ‘I’ve never known you so bigoted—so vitriolic. You’ve never even met the guy. Have you ever watched his series?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t belong to the school of thought which says that the world’s problems can all be solved by an undercover agent with a gun in one hand and a woman in the other.’ She gave a small angry laugh. ‘He’s probably started to believe his own publicity, and is convinced he’s above the law in some godlike way. Or does he think because the fantasy girls in the series surrender to him that real women must as well?’

‘We haven’t exactly discussed that aspect of the situation,’ said Sebastian. His expression was edgy, worried. ‘Mags, I’m sure you’re doing him an injustice. The girl who’s accused him is a nightclub hostess—not exactly a defenceless schoolgirl.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Maggie jerkily fastened the straps of her case. ‘And does her occupation give her no rights over her own body, or is anyone rich and famous allowed to use her as the whim takes them?’

‘No, of course not.’ Sebastian gave her a baffled glance. ‘But doesn’t it strike you as just a bit odd that she went to a newspaper to make her complaint, and not the police?’

‘It’s a man’s world,’ said Maggie bitterly. ‘She probably knew when it was her word against Jay Delaney’s that she wouldn’t be believed.’

Sebastian sighed heavily. ‘Ginger, I can’t reason with you when you’re like this. If you were to meet Jay—hear his side of things, you might …’

‘He’s the last person in the world I’d ever want to meet. I find men like Jay Delaney quite repulsive. And I’m glad that he’s come across at least one girl who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift, and is prepared to say so in public. I hope she says it in court.’

‘No,’ said Sebastian with sudden harshness. ‘You prefer a mother’s boy, don’t you, Margaret? A wimp who has to travel half-way across the world to find the guts to go to bed with you.’

‘Seb!’ Maggie’s cry held real distress.

He flushed deeply, and came across to her, patting her clumsily on the shoulder.

‘Oh, lord, I didn’t mean it Maggie. Forgive me. We shouldn’t be quarrelling about this. I shouldn’t have come here …’

‘Of course you should,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d never have forgiven you if I’d found out you were in London and hadn’t been to see me. We’ll just have to agree to differ on the subject of Jay Delaney.’ She paused. ‘I’m only sorry I’m going away. We could have had a meal or something.’

‘How long are you going to be in Mauritius?’ Sebastian gave her a meditative glance.

‘Three whole glorious weeks,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, I can’t wait.’

‘Well, you won’t have to for much longer.’ Sebastian forced a smile. ‘I really hope it all works out for you, Ginger.’ He dropped a light kiss on her hair. ‘Now, I’ll get out of the way, and leave you in peace. Look after yourself.’

‘I always do,’ she called after him.

Presently she heard her front door close and, collecting clean undies and the cool navy dress and jacket she was going to wear on the journey, she went into the bathroom.

She was disturbed by what had happened, she realised, as she lay in the warm water. She had adored Seb from the first moment Louie had introduced them, and they had never had anything approaching a cross word before.

Oh, damn Jay Delaney, she thought bitterly. Why couldn’t he use some other PR company to represent him? And why does he have to be Seb’s personal client? Someone like that doesn’t deserve Seb’s loyalty.

The story had broken first in one of the Sunday tabloids. Jay Delaney had given a party to mark the end of filming for his top-rated series, McGuire. It had started in a nightclub, and had moved back to the hotel where he had a suite. His victim, Debra Burrows, had worked at the nightclub and been invited to the party with some of the other hostesses.

On her own admission, Debbie had had too much to drink, and had gone into one of the other rooms to sleep it off. When she woke it was the early hours of the morning, and everyone else had left. She was alone with Jay Delaney, who had made it clear he expected to have sex with her, and when she refused he had raped her.

‘I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He was like an animal,’ she had told the newspaper. ‘He said he could have any girl he wanted. That I should be flattered.

‘I was such a fan of his. I worshipped him, and I was thrilled when he asked me to the party. But he’s a sham, and a hypocrite. He’s made me feel dirty—used.’

Her pretty bruised face staring from the front page had haunted Maggie ever since.

She thought, ‘There but for the grace of God …’

Now, she drew a deep breath. She wouldn’t spare Jay Delaney another thought, she vowed silently. He wasn’t worth it, nor was any other man who preyed on women.

It was men like Robin who mattered. Men who were kind and tender—and decent.

Maggie stared at the dregs in her cup, asked herself if she wanted more coffee, and decided against it. She took another restive glance at her watch, and sighed.

Where was Robin? What on earth could have happened to him? He was supposed to have picked her up over half an hour ago, and he was usually punctual to a fault. She got up and began to prowl round the sitting-room, her uneasiness mounting. If traffic on the way to the airport was as heavy as it normally was, then they could end up by being extremely late. It was no good thinking they might be able to make up time on the journey either. Robin was a careful driver who didn’t like to take chances.

All in all, the longed-for holiday wasn’t getting off to a very good start. She had tried to telephone his home, but there had been no reply, signifying that he had set out at least.

Could the car have broken down, she wondered apprehensively, or, worse still, could there have been some kind of accident?

She shook herself. I won’t think like that, she told herself determinedly. He’s just been held up, that’s all, but he’ll be here in a minute, and until he arrives I’ll do a last check—make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

She had just re-packed her handbag for the second time when she heard the buzzer.

‘Oh, thank heavens.’ She ran to answer the door. ‘I was really beginning to worry,’ she told him, smiling, and halted, her brows knotting. The first thing that occurred to her was that he was wearing a formal dark suit, the kind of thing he would put on for the office, instead of the casual slacks and shirt she would have expected. The second was that he looked pale and worried.

Her heart sank. Maybe her fears about an accident were only too justified.

‘Come in.’ She took his hand, drew him into the room. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

He sat down on the sofa. He didn’t look at her. ‘Maggie, I can’t go to Mauritius. I’ve had to cancel my flight.’

‘Can’t go?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about? We’ve been looking forward to it for months and …’

‘I know, I know,’ he cut in. ‘And I feel terrible letting you down like this, but you see—it’s Mother.’

For a moment, she looked at him blankly. She thought, I’m not hearing this. It cannot actually be happening, in nineteen-eighties Britain. This is some terrible joke.

Only, somehow, she didn’t feel like laughing.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think I understand. Are you telling me your mother has imposed some kind of ban on your going—because if so, she’s left it rather late in the day and …’

‘Oh, no.’ He looked horrified. ‘It’s nothing like that. She likes you, Maggie, she really does. No, she’s been taken ill. The doctor thinks it may be her heart. She’s had to go into hospital for tests. I went with her to see her settled in, and I’ve got to go back tonight.’

Maggie swallowed. ‘Her heart?’ she queried. ‘But she’s never had any problem before, has she? Isn’t this rather sudden?’

Robin looked even more solemn. ‘Apparently that’s when it can be most dangerous. And, of course, she’s never been strong,’ he added defensively.

It was Maggie’s private opinion that Mrs Hervey could go ten rounds with an ox and win on a knock-out, but she bit back the angry words.

‘All she could think of was you,’ Robin went on. ‘She kept saying to me while we were waiting for the ambulance, “Poor Margaret will be so disappointed.” She was nearly in tears.’

‘I can imagine,’ Maggie said grimly. ‘When did all this start?’

‘In the early hours of this morning, although she did confess to the doctor that she hadn’t been feeling very well for several days. But she said nothing, tried to pretend nothing was wrong, because she didn’t want to be a nuisance.’

Maggie’s lips parted, then closed again. She knew an overwhelming impulse to seize Robin by his neatly knotted conservative tie and say, ‘Your mother has turned being a nuisance into an art-form. She is greedy and selfish, and terrified of losing you. She’s taken a stock situation from fiction—a cliché that I’d pencil out, screaming, if I came across it in a script—because she knows that I’ll recognise it as such and you won’t. It’s her way of telling me that I can’t win. That she’s prepared to use the ultimate weapon against me—delicate health.’

‘You’ve gone really pale.’ Robin reached out and patted her hand, rather clumsily. ‘I knew how concerned you’d be. I tried to think of some way of breaking it to you …’

‘Passing on this kind of news is never easy.’ Maggie kept her voice neutral with an effort. ‘How long does your mother expect to stay in hospital?’

‘It’s difficult to say, and of course, I have to be on hand in case she needs anything.’

Maggie steeled herself. ‘And the doctor’s quite sure it is her heart? After all, your mother doesn’t have a great deal to occupy herself with when you’re not there, and it’s easy to—build up symptoms in one’s own mind—imagine things …’

Robin’s pleasant face hardened perceptibly. ‘Just what are you implying? Do I infer that you think my mother has invented this attack, because she’s bored in some way? How could you? If you’d seen her—seen the pain she was in—the brave way she was trying to cope. Maggie, I know you’re disappointed about the holiday, and I am too, but this really isn’t worthy of you.’

There was a silence, then Maggie said quietly, ‘No, perhaps not. I apologise.’ She forced a smile. ‘So much for Mauritius, then,’ Or anywhere else out of your mother’s clutches.

‘Oh, but you can still go,’ he said quickly. ‘The hotel reservation is waiting, after all. It would be a pity to waste it. Mother said so. She said, “Margaret deserves to get away for a rest, somewhere in the sun where she can relax and meet new people.”‘

‘How kind of her.’ Anger was beginning to build inside Maggie, and she fought to control it. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of going without you.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps, if your mother’s condition turns out to be less serious than you fear, we could get a later flight. As you say, they’ll keep our room.’

Perhaps the shared room was the crunch as far as Mrs Hervey was concerned. Maybe if we’d booked separate rooms, or even different hotels, she wouldn’t have taken quite such drastic action.

‘I wish I could be as optimistic.’ He gave her an anxious, rather pleading smile. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry about all this. But there’ll be another time.’

Oh, no, there won’t, thought Maggie. Your mother will see to that. This was in the nature of a trial run—to see how you’d react. Now she knows she can pull the strings whenever she wants and you’ll dance.

‘Of course there will,’ she smiled at him, calmly. ‘Now I’m sure you want to get back to the hospital—check there haven’t been any developments. It was good of you to come over and explain in person.’

He looked aghast. ‘But that was the least I could do. Mother insisted.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve checked with my insurance, and we won’t be out of pocket over any cancellation. Family illness, you know.’ There was another awkward silence, then he looked at his watch. ‘Maybe I should be getting back, at that.’ He gave her an unhappy look. ‘You do understand, don’t you? You know how much I was looking forward to being with you.’

‘Yes.’ As he got to his feet, Maggie rose too, and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘I understand everything.’ She paused. ‘Give your mother my regards, and tell her I’m sure she’ll be feeling much better soon.’

‘Thank you.’ He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment. ‘You’re a wonderful girl, Maggie. A wonderful friend.’

She watched the door close behind him, then slowly and carefully she counted to twenty before picking up her empty cup and throwing it with all her strength at the fireplace. It smashed instantly, sending shards of pottery and dribbles of cold coffee everywhere.

She said, ‘And that’s that,’ and began to cry, hot heavy tears of rage and disappointment. She sank down on her knees on the rug, arms wrapped across her body, and sobbed out loud.

She wasn’t crying for the loss of her sunlit, tropical holiday. She was grieving for Robin, and the life with him she had hoped for—planned for. Because she knew with paralysing certainty that even if he were to walk back through that door and propose marriage here and now, she would not accept.

She supposed she should be glad that Mrs Hervey had shown her hand so early in the game. Perhaps one day, she would even be grateful that she had been given the chance to walk away from a potentially monstrous and destructive situation, but not now. Now, she felt stricken, as if her life lay in as many pieces as her ill-used cup.

She wept until she had no tears left, and the harsh, hiccupping sobs gradually died away into silence. She went on kneeling, staring into space, wondering numbly what to do next.

Going to Mauritius by herself was out of the question. The hotel, a luxurious bungalow complex, would be full of couples, which would only serve to emphasise her own sense of loneliness and isolation. Nor could she find anyone else to accompany her at this short notice.

And if I could, I wouldn’t want to, she thought. It’ll be bad enough when everyone finds out. They’ll all be so sympathetic, and falling over themselves not to say, ‘I told you so,’ especially Louie and Sebastian. I don’t think I can bear it.

She supposed she could try to book herself another kind of holiday, somewhere her presence as a single woman wouldn’t be quite so remarkable, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t think of one place she was remotely interested in going to.

On the other hand, she couldn’t stay in London either. Unless she stayed in her flat like a total hermit, news would soon spread that she hadn’t gone away, and if she wasn’t careful she would be back at the office, wet-nursing Kylie St John through the re-write of her next bestseller.

Oh, no, Maggie thought with sudden violence. Over my dead body.

She got to her feet, drawing a deep breath. There was somewhere else she could go. There was her cottage.

Sebastian might joke about it, but small as it was, and hidden in the wilds of East Anglia, it was precious to her. She enjoyed its seclusion and its comparative inaccessibility down little more than a farm track. She had bought it more or less for a song, using a legacy from her grandmother for the purpose, and over the past few years had poured in most of her spare cash on improvements to the building. She had had a secondhand Aga installed, and had toured the used furniture shops, choosing exactly the right items, then cleaning and stripping them down with loving care. Her next major project was going to be a bathroom. The present toilet arrangements consisted of an outside loo ringed by nettles, a rickety washbasin in the larger of the two bedrooms, and a tin bath in front of the Aga.

Her sister Louie, who had fallen foul of the nettles on a midnight trip to the loo, had said with feeling that the whole place was like the end of the world, and the name had stuck. In fact their last Christmas present to her had been a handsome carved wooden nameplate with the legend ‘World’s End’, which Seb declared had doubled the value of the cottage in one fell swoop.

But as a bolthole—a place to lick her wounds in peace—it was second to none. She could go there—be alone—and get her head together. Start planning for life after Robin.

She winced as she made her way into the bedroom. The first thing she had to do was unpack her case. She wouldn’t be needing any glamorous coordinated beachwear at World’s End. Jeans, sweaters and thermal undies were the order of the day there.

The worst moment was when she came across the nightgown she had bought for her first night with Robin. It was white, pretty and sheer, and if she was honest, she hadn’t counted on wearing it for very long. She had always enjoyed being in Robin’s arms, and wanted his kisses. She had grown accustomed to him, felt safe with him, and had no qualms about giving herself to him completely. Now, she looked down at the nightgown, feeling fresh tears scalding in her throat. She never wanted to see it again, or any of the other charming, provocative trifles she had bought either.

Stony-faced, she emptied them all out on to the floor and kicked them to one side. Serves me right for trying to be sexy, she thought, biting her lip. I should have remembered that I’m good old Maggie, and bought some sensible knickers.

She took a long, clinical look at herself in the mirror. She would never set the world on fire, but when her face wasn’t streaked with tears, her nose red and swollen, and her grey-green eyes like twin bruises, she was passable, she thought judiciously, even though her hair was common-or-garden red rather than more sophisticated auburn, and she was definitely on the skinny side of slender.

And now unexpectedly back on the market, as estate agents said in their advertisements.

‘A wonderful friend,’ Robin had said.

Was that really all she had been to him? And would she have been any more in that romantic bungalow, tucked away in a flower-filled tropical garden?

Now we shall never know, she thought with bitter self-derision, rooting through her wardrobe for gear more appropriate to mid-October in England.

She repacked her case, then stripped off her dress and jacket, changing into black wool trousers and a matching polo-necked sweater.

She was half-way out of the door when she remembered the cottage keys. She pulled open the top drawer of the bureau and reached into the corner, but the familiar bunch wasn’t there.

Frowning, Maggie pulled the drawer out further, riffling through the contents. But there was no sign of the keys. Had she forgotten to put them away after her last visit, a couple of months ago? It seemed so. No doubt they would be tucked away in some handbag.

But she wouldn’t look for them now. She kept a spare set in the bottom tray of the box which stored her costume jewellery. She would take those instead.

She carried her case round to the lock-up garage where she kept her Metro, then dashed round the local mini-market, filling a box with bread, eggs and milk as well as canned goods. She could get meat and vegetables at the farm shop on her way to World’s End.

The weather was deteriorating, she noticed, as she began her journey. She switched on the car radio and listened to the forecast. The outlook was stormy, with rain and high winds approaching gale force at times.

Maggie pulled a face. Electricity supplies to the cottage were inclined to be erratic in bad weather, although the gales might never materialise. But if they did, she had plenty of candles, and a fresh supply of fuel for the Aga had been delivered at the beginning of the month, according to Mrs Grice, the farmer’s wife, who kept a friendly eye on the cottage for her.

I’ll make out, she thought with a mental shrug. And stormy weather suits my mood at the moment. The wind and I can howl together.

Getting out of London was the usual nightmare, and Maggie was a mass of tension by the time she won clear of the suburbs. She had intended to drive straight to the cottage, but now she decided she would take her time—stop for a meal even. It was ages since she had been out to dinner, she realised with amazement. Robin didn’t care for restaurant food, so she had usually ended up cooking for him at the flat—except when they had eaten at his mother’s house.