A Kind of Madness Page 3

  But as she waited for the bright red car to move the traffic behind her signalled its impatience at her delay, and she realised that the red car had still not moved.

  Feeling uncomfortable and unnerved, she put her own small car in gear, wincing a little as she underestimated the amount of clutch and shot forward in an ungainly and thoroughly inexperienced manner, galling in the extreme to someone who prided herself on her sensible, safe handling of her car.

  As she glanced automatically into her rearview mirror, she saw to her horror that the reason the red car hadn’t moved was that its driver was now signalling to pull into her lane right behind her, and that the traffic, caught off guard by her kangaroo-like leap forward, had allowed him to do so.

  Indignation rose in her throat. How dared he? Did he honestly think she was the kind of woman to be impressed by that sort of idiotic behaviour? Hadn’t he realised from the look she had given—that look of freezing disdain she had soon learned to hide her real feelings behind after that never-to-be-forgotten occasion when she had walked into the staff-room at the bank with her real emotions written all too clearly on her face? Did he actually think she would be flattered by his obvious pursuit of her?

  Things like this simply did not happen in London, where the drivers were far too anxious to get to their destination to play these silly games. And she had never in her wildest imaginings believed that she would be involved in something so juvenile.

  Well, he would soon get tired of showing off and pursuing her, once she had made it plain to him that she simply wasn’t interested. And once he realised she was turning off at the next set of lights he would soon return to the main stream of traffic.

  By rights a man of that age ought to have far more serious matters on his mind than pursuing unknown women. If she had been of a less strong disposition, nervous and easily frightened, she could almost have been panicked into having an accident by his pursuit of her.

  Men like that were a danger to the other traffic. By rights she ought to report him to the police, she told herself in annoyance as a peep in her mirror showed her that he was still behind her.

  At least he had some sense, she noticed reluctantly. He was keeping a good safe distance between them, not trying to crowd up behind her.

  Just as she approached them the lights turned to red, and, on an impulse she couldn’t entirely analyse, instead of indicating that she was turning right, she did nothing… Let him think she was going straight on. That way she would make sure that he didn’t pursue this stupid game any further. Although she was determined not to look in her mirror, she found that she was doing so. Simply out of habit, she assured herself. All good drivers kept an eye on the traffic behind them.

  He had pulled up right behind her, and as she glanced into her mirror she saw to her fury that he was actually daring to smile at her a second time. A smug, self-assured smile, which said that he was quite sure that his insulting behaviour would be admired and welcome. She had a good mind to get out of her car and give him a piece of her mind. Arrogant, conceited creature… Couldn’t he see that she just was not the type of woman to be flattered by what he was doing? Surely her immaculate, shoulder-length, straight red hair with its sophisticated London sheen and elegance, her thoroughly city-groomed suit and blouse, her discreet make-up, which emphasised her golden eyes and which was delicately balanced on the right side of seriousness, told him that she was a career woman, and simply not interested in flirting with strange men in bright red cars.

  A cold glare into her mirror should reinforce that message, if he was so bone-headed that he hadn’t already received it.

  This time when the lights changed she was ready for them; deftly turning the wheel and flicking the indicator, she pulled out and away, giving the car just a little more acceleration than she would normally have used, and discovering, as she turned into the quiet B road that led eventually to the village, that rather disconcertingly she was actually holding her breath.

  Odious man. His sort ought to be locked up. He probably had a wife somewhere and a family. The poor woman no doubt doted on him. She could picture her now, a pretty, sad-eyed woman, with two quiet, subdued little children, suffering already from their father’s outrageous behaviour. No doubt he never took his wife anywhere but preferred to flirt with other women, leaving his wife at home with his children… He probably kept her short of money as well, Elspeth thought with a scowl. Otherwise how on earth could he afford to run a small bright red car which had never been designed for family use? Why, it hadn’t even had a child-seat in the back. That was how little he thought of his family, that he didn’t even make any provision for their safety.

  Carried away by her rising tide of anger on behalf of this fictitious wife and children, it was several minutes before she looked in her mirror again. Not because she had any doubts about doing so—of course not… It was simply that there was no reason. As her glance flicked upwards, she braked instinctively in outraged reaction at the sight of the now familiar red car on the road behind her.

  He had actually dared to follow her! The nerve of the man. If the road hadn’t been so narrow, she would have stopped where she was, leaving him no opportunity but to drive past. She hoped when he got home that his supper was burned and that his wife was justifiably furious with him.

  It was ten miles to the village, nearer to fourteen if one took the narrow, meandering lane that only allowed for the single width of one car and which involved a dirty and very damp fording of a local river. The last time she had gone down that lane, Peter had been furious. There had been mud all over his newly polished car and, as he had virtuously pointed out to her, if he had not had the windows closed the inside of the car would have been wet and muddy as well.

  Well, if the driver of the red car insisted on continuing his futile pursuit of her, she would teach him a lesson that might make him think twice about bothering another woman the way he was doing her. She’d like to see how he explained the state of his now pristine car to his wife.

  Far too angry to be afraid, as soon as the turning down the lane appeared Elspeth turned sharply into it, gasping out loud in fury as she realised that her tormentor had followed her.

  Ignoring the fact that she was driving much faster than was normal for her, and praying that she did not meet anything coming in the opposite direction, she gritted her teeth, and hoped unkindly that the river was full after the recent spring rains. Her own car, a sturdy Volvo, would have no problem at all with the ford, but his…his…bright red plaything… Savagely she decided that she hoped the river was high enough to bring the thing to a complete standstill.

  The mental image of him standing in the ford, having to push his car to the nearest garage, brought her a good deal of satisfaction. She only felt piously sorry for his poor wife, who would no doubt receive the brunt of his bad temper. His kind of man always reacted with bad temper when thwarted. They were so obnoxious that it never occurred to them that their advances were not welcome, that all women did not find them instantly and irreversibly attractive. Look at him now—still daring to smile at her every time she looked in the mirror, although now she noticed his smile was turning to a frown.

  Did he realise what lay ahead of them? She certainly hoped so, she decided viciously. It was certainly too late for him to turn round.

  She saw the familiar sign for the ford and dropped down a gear in readiness for it. As she had known it would, her sturdy car splashed through without any problems.

  Safely on the other side, she watched in glee as the red car followed suit. The ford, muddy from her passage through it, came much higher up the wheels of the red car than it had done her own, and as she had hoped the muddy, gritty water soon marked the pristine scarlet of the car’s over-bright bodywork.

  Serves him right, she decided grimly as she pulled away, heading for the village.

  The lane ended a few miles short of the village, curving back on itself to meet the main road. As she emerged on to it, Elspeth saw the r
ed car pull up behind her.

  To her astonishment, just as she turned out on to the road the creature had the gall to flash her with his headlights. Astounded at his temerity, she missed her opportunity to pull out. She could see a heavy stream of traffic coming towards her and blocking her exit, and as she sat waiting for an opportunity to move she suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of a car door being slammed.

  Looking into her mirror, she saw to her horror that the man was walking towards her. Heavens, he was huge. She had guessed he would be tall, but he was well over six feet—much taller than Peter, who was only four inches above her own five feet six. He was also broad, and the shirt he was wearing looked even more disreputable at close quarters than it had done at a distance. As he headed towards her, plainly intent on ignoring all her attempts to show him just how little his advances were welcome to her, Elspeth was so incensed that she forgot the cautious training of her adult years, forgot all the warnings constantly given by the papers and police against lone women stopping their cars and opening the doors to unknown men, forgot everything bar the anger boiling up inside her, and just as he reached her car she thrust open the door and got out, trembling with rage and indignation.

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing,’ she told him, going straight into the attack. ‘But if you think for one moment that I’m flattered by your idiotic and juvenile behaviour, then you’re wrong. And if you imagine that by following me and trying to get my attention you’re going to impress me, then think again. I’ve a good mind to report you to the police, but I suppose your poor wife has enough to put up with. Your behaviour must be embarrassing in the extreme for her and for your children, but I don’t suppose you ever think of that, do you? Men like you never do. I don’t suppose you ever give a thought for anything or anyone but yourself. If you want my real opinion of you, I think you’re detestable—detestable and contemptible, and if you don’t stop following me immediately I shall report you to the police.’

  Having said her piece, Elspeth suddenly discovered that she was trembling, as much with a strange sort of exhilaration as with anger.

  He was standing in front of her in a most threatening manner, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t reached out and taken hold of her. She could see the way he was clenching and unclenching his hands. No doubt it had upset him to discover how little she welcomed his pursuit of her. Well, it would do him good to realise that not every woman he chose to pursue was going to fall at his feet in gratitude and admiration. Even so, justified though her anger was she had perhaps been rather foolish. They were virtually alone, and he was a very strong and now very angry man. A tiny thrill of sensation ran through her as she realised that if he did choose to take hold of her and, for instance, actually dared to kiss her, there was very little she could do to stop him. Of course, if he did she would make it immediately clear to him just what she thought of such disgraceful behaviour. She would remind him that he had a wife and family. Shocked by the direction of her own thoughts, Elspeth suddenly realised that she was standing there practically inviting him to make some sort of attack on her, and that she ought to get straight back in her car and drive off before he realised it as well.

  As she did so, he took a step towards her, and said something she couldn’t quite hear as a huge lorry thundered past, but she was pleased to note that when she eventually managed to pull out into the traffic he turned in the opposite direction. No doubt he had quickly realised his mistake. Well, she was glad of it. Perhaps in future he would think twice before subjecting some poor female to his arrogant and unwanted behaviour.

  She stopped in the village at the local garage, which she knew would still be open, and which thankfully still had some milk for sale.

  Despite all his efforts, Peter had still not managed to persuade her to drink her coffee black, and since her mother was still valiantly attempting to convince herself that both she and her father actually preferred the milk produced by their goats, if she, Elspeth, wanted anything like a decent cup of coffee, she would have to provide her own milk.

  Her stop at the garage delayed her longer than she had intended. The proprietor was a friend of her parents and wanted to chat, so that it was fifteen minutes before she could get away, by which time dusk had started to fall properly.

  Never mind, she only had a very few miles to go, and there was virtually no traffic.

  Secretly, if she was honest with herself, she still enjoyed coming home. There was something about Cheshire with its pretty countryside, so neat and clean, its fields speckled with black and white cows, its crops growing on land which had yielded harvests since before the Romans had landed and built Chester.

  As she turned off the main road and into the narrow lane leading to her parents’ home, security lights suddenly sprang into life at her approach.

  Automatically slowing down, Elspeth stared at them in a mixture of surprise and approval. Ever since her parents had moved here she had been advising them to have these lights installed, reminding them severely of their potential vulnerability to thieves, but her father, while listening to her, had never seemed to take her advice to heart, and she had despaired of ever making her parents see the wisdom of her suggestion.

  Now it seemed that she had been wrong. A further and equally pleasant surprise was the discovery that her mother’s goats, which normally roamed the lane and the yard, providing a hazard for the unwary, were safely penned up in the paddock.

  She could hear the dogs barking as she approached the yard, and the familiar feeling of anticipation mingled with anxiety gripped her stomach.

  Anticipation because, no matter how much she might dislike it, there was still a part of her that missed this country environment in which she had grown up, and which reacted to her return to it with an almost heady sense of release; and anxiety because invariably she arrived home to discover that her parents had got themselves involved in one or other of the potentially dangerous situations they seemed to be irresistibly attracted to. Like children to water, she reflected in affectionate exasperation as she turned into the yard and neatly parked her car next to the mud-spattered red car, which must be the new one her mother had told her she was buying.

  The mud-spattered red car!

  Elspeth froze in her seat and stared at it in a mixture of dismay and disbelief. It couldn’t be the same car—of course it couldn’t. It was just a coincidence…and besides, this one had its hood up—and besides, how on earth could he have possibly known her destination?

  Shakily she opened her door, reassuring herself that it was just coincidence, but as she did so a man rounded the corner of the house; a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man who paused when he saw her and then looked at her.

  It was the look that did it. She found she was literally grinding her teeth as she stood up, and she wished passionately that she was taller so that she could look directly at him instead of having to look up at him.

  At close quarters the tanned face was not quite as suavely handsome as it had seemed. For a start the strong, high-bridged nose had been broken at some stage and was now slightly crooked, but in some odd way that imperfection seemed to add something elusively attractive to the man rather than detract from his appeal, lending his face a strength and character that a more perfect profile would have lacked.

  As she stared at him, Elspeth even caught herself wishing almost wistfully that it weren’t quite so dark so that she could see what colour his eyes were. What did it matter what colour they were? she chastised herself furiously. What did matter was that he had no right to be here—none at all—and if he thought for one moment she was going to be flattered by his presence…

  Quickly, before she could weaken completely and give in to the totally unfamiliar foolishness that seemed to have caught hold of her, she told him as much, delivering the words in the sharp, crisp tones of the modern woman she considered herself to be; a woman who knew exactly how to deal with his sort of man and who lost no time in doin
g so, making it abundantly clear to him exactly what she thought of his behaviour.

  It was only when she stopped to draw breath that she realised indignantly that neither of her parents had appeared to rescue her from him and that, instead of looking thoroughly chastised by her justifiable denunciation, he was instead watching her with a mixture of mockery and disdain.

  ‘I hate to stop you in mid-flood,’ he told her while she gulped in air. ‘I applaud your performance, by the way. Your parents never said you were into amateur dramatics. A bit over the top, perhaps.’

  Elspeth was still staring at him. ‘My parents?’ she demanded, confused. ‘You know them?’

  ‘Yes. In fact… Look, why don’t we go inside so that we can talk properly?’

  Go inside? Talk properly? Elspeth looked wildly at him… Where were her parents? Why didn’t they come and rescue her from this madman?

  ‘Go inside…’ she stuttered, stupefied that he should actually think she was willing to go anywhere with him.

  ‘Mm. I’ve just about finished out here. I was going to wash down your mother’s car, but I suppose that can wait.’

  Her mother’s car. She looked from him to the mud-spattered vehicle. ‘That…that belongs to my mother?’