Levelling the Score Read online

  If her barb had found its mark, there was no sign of it. She followed Simon out into the hall, and let him out of the front door. She watched as he walked away, a tall man, who, despite being powerfully built, moved with a lithe grace that could on occasion be faintly menacing.

  When he had gone she went back to her sitting-room, her interest in her book now completely gone. She had failed Susie; now what was she to do?

  She looked at the phone and then remembered that the house in Cornwall did not possess one. It was a holiday home, Mrs Townsend had always said, and that being the case, a telephone could only be an unwanted intrusion.

  She thought of Susie, still blissfully unaware of what tomorrow would bring. Her friend had quite probably deliberately deceived her. Simon might be correct in everything he had said about Peter Halbury, but that did not alter the fact that he still had no right to interfere in his sister's life, Jenna told herself stubbornly.

  Somehow Susie would have to be warned. But how?

  There was only one way, and she knew even as she contemplated it that her mind was already made up, and had been from the moment Simon had announced that he wouldn't be going to Cornwall until the morning.

  It would be a long drive, and an uncomfortable one in her small Mini, but the very thought of depriving Simon of his prey was enough to make her ignore any potential discomfort.

  She went upstairs to Craig's flat. He opened the door immediately to her knock.

  'Gone, then, has he?' He looked speculatively at her, but Jenna refused to be drawn.

  'Yes, he has. Craig, I have to go down to Cornwall—immediately… Will you keep an eye on my flat? I'll only be gone for a couple of days.'

  She sensed that Craig wanted to question her, but after a moment's hesitation he shrugged and said laconically, 'Of course, why not? You're not thinking of taking that car of yours, I hope?'

  'What else?'

  'Take mine instead,' he offered.

  Craig owned a six-month-old Porsche that was his joy and pride, and Jenna blinked slightly at the munificence of this offer.

  'Craig, I couldn't!'

  'Of course you could. You'll be a damn sight safer driving mine than that tin can of yours.'

  Reluctantly she allowed him to persuade her, knowing that the journey would be faster and much easier in Craig's car.

  He gave her the keys, and she went back down to her own flat to pack an overnight case.

  Within an hour she was on the road, busy with mid-evening traffic, but once she had cleared the city she had the motorway almost to herself. The Porsche was a dream to drive, eating up the miles. The route was familiar to her from all the holidays she had shared with Susie and her family at their Cornish cottage, and although she had to stop three or four times to check signposts, once she was off the motorway she felt that she was making good time.

  Susie would be shocked to see her, but better that shock than the one she would get should Simon turn up unannounced some time tomorrow afternoon.

  At last she was crossing the Tamar—always an important psychological moment in those teenage journeys—and finally she was on Cornish land.

  Although both Susie and Simon shared their Cornish ancestry, only Simon showed it, with his olive skin and night-dark hair. Mrs Townsend had once voiced the opinion that she suspected there might even be a trace of Spanish blood somewhere in their Cornish inheritance—Spanish galleons had been wrecked off the Cornish coast at the time of the ill-fated Armada, and more than one dark-haired, swarthy-skinned sailor had made it safely ashore.

  The cottage was situated just outside a tiny fishing village several miles from St Ives, on a part of the coastline so rugged and swept by dangerous tides that it had never fallen foul of any developers.

  Tregellan Cottage was perched on top of a jagged stretch of cliff exposed to the full force of the Atlantic gales in the winter.

  It had its own private beach that could only be reached via a narrow cliff path that was not for vertigo sufferers or those who were queasy-stomached.

  There were no signs of life in the village, but Jenna had not expected there to be; at gone two in the morning it was hardly likely that anyone would still be awake.

  Craig's Porsche purred triumphantly up the narrow cliff road—as her poor little Mini would never have done. The cottage was in darkness, and she parked at the front, climbing a little wearily out of the driving seat and walking towards the door.

  It was a beautifully clear night and she stopped briefly to breathe in the salt-laden air.

  Even from where she stood she could see the ocean—see and hear it, the soft, lulling sound of the outgoing tide distinctly soothing to the ear.

  She moved, her bare arms caught by the sudden breeze that sprang up and she shivered slightly as she hurried down the flagged path to the cottage door.

  She had changed into a comfortable cotton jumpsuit for the drive, and the sea wind flattened the fabric across the fullness of her breasts.

  The cottage had no bell, just an old-fashioned lion-headed knocker. However, just as she lifted her hand to touch it, the cottage door opened.

  It was a rather odd sensation, staring into complete blackness, and Jenna hesitated uncertainly on the threshold until common sense came to her rescue and she realised that Susie must have heard her drive up.

  Stepping inside she said quickly, 'Susie, I'm afraid I've let you down and you're in for a shock…'

  'Unfortunately, Jenna, I suspect the shock is going to be yours.' She gasped as Simon stepped out from the shadows. 'Please excuse the rather theatrical darkness, but I can't find the blasted paraffin lights, and the generator is on the blink.'

  Electricity had never reached the remoteness of the clifftop, and for years the Townsends had kept on hand some old-fashioned storm lanterns for those occasions when the temperamental generator refused to work.

  'I think your mother keeps them on the cold slab in the small cellar,' Jenna responded automatically, shock giving way to ire, as she demanded, 'What are you doing here, Simon? You told me you weren't going to come down until tomorrow.'

  'So I did, but I changed my mind…I must admit it never struck me that you would be so quixotically loyal to my idiotic sister as to drive down here yourself! It can't have been a comfortable journey in that tin can of yours.'

  'I'm not driving the Mini,' Jenna snapped. 'Craig lent me his Porsche.'

  Now that her eyes were accustomed to the gloom, she could see the derisive lift of Simon's eyebrows quite clearly.

  'Really? He must be more besotted than I'd imagined, or you, my lovely Jenna, must be far more… talented.'

  She flushed beneath the barb of the deliberate sexual innuendo, hating him for the mockery it held.

  'Unfortunately, both of us appear to have made a wasted journey, because Susie isn't here.'

  'Not here! But she told me…'

  'She lied to you, I'm afraid,' Simon interrupted her coolly. 'She isn't here, nor has she been here… I must admit I was a little surprised to learn that her luxury-loving friend was prepared to spend close on two weeks down here. The Côte d'Azur is more in his line.'

  He said it with a hard disdain that made Jenna wince.

  The burst of adrenalin which had fuelled her determined drive to Cornwall had gone. In its place was a weary exhaustion that locked her muscles and made her ache for sleep.

  There was only one thing left for her to do now and that was to return to her flat. The thought of the long, tiring drive was not a tempting one.

  As she turned round and started to walk away, Simon caught hold of her arm.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Back to London.'

  She saw him grimace, a weary, almost self-mocking tightening of his facial features, which surely must only have been the trick of the light, because Simon had never viewed himself with self-mockery in all his life—of that she was quite sure.

  'Rather dramatic, don't you think? I know you loathe the very sight of me, Jenna, but
you're hardly going to be contaminated by spending half a dozen hours under the same roof. I shouldn't think your boyfriend would be too pleased if you wrote off that expensive piece of equipment he's loaned you. You're in no fit state to drive back to London now,' he added firmly. 'I suspect we'll find that half the bedding's damp and the cottage is freezing but, thanks to my dear sister's notorious selfishness, we have no other option but to stay here.'

  Jenna frowned. Susie selfish!

  'She didn't know we'd follow her down here. I suppose she changed her mind at the last minute and…'

  'Didn't she?' Simon asked her sardonically. 'I think you'll discover that Susie never had the slightest intention of coming down here. If I'd given it more thought at the appropriate time, I should have guessed she'd given you a red herring. Susie was never overly fond of the place. She'd certainly never choose it as a lovers' rendezvous.'

  'Susie loved it down here,' Jenna protested. 'We both did.'

  The look Simon gave her as he turned to study her upturned face in the darkness of the hall made her feel odd—weak and vulnerable, somehow, as though she had said something very betraying.

  'Susie's a city dweller,' Simon told her. 'Not like you. What made you go and live in London? I thought you were going to spend the rest of your life in Gloucestershire.'

  'What as?' Jenna asked him bitterly. 'The village spinster?'

  Simon ignored her gibe and added tauntingly, 'What happened to the husband and two-point-two offspring you were so convinced you wanted?'

  'That was when I was fifteen—I've changed since then.'

  'Yes, yes, I believe you have. Stay here, I'll go down to the cellar and get the lamps.'

  Much as she objected to his high-handed manner, Jenna knew there was little point in following him down the steep flight of stone steps into the cellar.

  The house was built into the cliff side, and as teenagers she and Susie had amused themselves by searching the stone rooms for secret doorways that might conceal passages down inside the cliff face, as in the best tradition of smuggling stories. Or rather, she had amused herself, Jenna realised painfully. Susie had always been rather inclined to scoff at her romantic imaginings.

  She made her way to the larger of the cottage's two sitting-rooms, and pushed open the door. In the dim light she could see that the furniture was swathed in covers. The air smelled cold and faintly stale, and she went over to open one of the windows.

  Simon was right, there was little point in her driving back to London tonight, and yet she still felt a small prickle of unease at the thought of being alone here with him. It was ironic really, when for so many years she had been filled with foolishly romantic dreams of just such an event.

  How old had she been when she had become infatuated with him? Fifteen? Fifteen! Why deceive herself? she asked herself ironically. She could remember exactly when it had happened. It had been here at this very house, the summer she was fifteen. Simon had made an unexpected visit and she had been sitting in the garden when he arrived. Tall and bronzed from his French Riviera holiday, where he had been crewing on a friend's yacht, she had watched him come towards her. Jenna had been alone at the time, Susie and her parents having gone into the nearest town to do some shopping.

  Her heart had almost seemed to stop beating, lurching into her throat. She hadn't been able to speak or even breathe…

  Thank heavens she had managed to keep her feelings to herself, and that no one had ever guessed how she felt. Once or twice she had felt a thrill of fear at the thought that Simon might have realised, but apart from the odd teasing comment, delivered in much the same brotherly manner he used towards Susie, he had rarely even spoken to her.

  The arrival of his latest, equally tall and tanned girlfriend had brought home to her the impossibility of her romantic yearnings, and when towards the end of the holiday she and Susie had become engaged in a heated conversation about how they wanted to spend the rest of their lives, Elena had laughed in derision when Jenna had mentioned her own wish to settle down and have a family.

  'You see, Simon,' she had said laughingly, 'you should always avoid quiet, plain little girls, they always have marriage on their minds.'

  Jenna had been hurt by the older girl's cruel remark, but after all there had been nothing personal in it. Since her arrival they had hardly seen anything of her or Simon. They went out together every day in Simon's small sports car, returning only briefly at supper time to eat and change to go out again.

  Her infatuation for Simon had died quite quickly, but it had left her with a curious antipathy towards him, an unease when in his company that made her restless and on edge.

  She heard him coming back, and heard him swear as he stumbled into something.

  'I've found the lamps, but there doesn't seem to be any fuel for them.'

  'It's in the garage,' Jenna told him.

  He cursed again.

  'Only a woman could do something as idiotic as that! Why on earth isn't it with the lamps?'

  'Because I believe your father considered that it was safer to fill and light the lamps outside than in the confined space of the cellar,' Jenna told him coldly.

  'Ah, I see… Very well then, I consider myself well and truly put in my place, and take back everything I have said about your sex, Jenna. Will that do? Have I made amends?'

  'I'll go upstairs and see if I can sort out some bedding,' Jenna told him, ignoring his taunting remark. 'I wonder if your mother still keeps those sleeping-bags down here?'

  'I don't know. It must be a couple of years since anyone was last down. My father was talking about selling the place.'

  Jenna only just managed to suppress her instinctive protest, reminding herself that whatever Susie's family might choose to do with their cottage was really no concern of hers. But so many of the happier memories of her childhood centred round this weathered, unprotected dwelling. She was being sentimental, she told herself as she went upstairs and made her way to the small walk-in airing cupboard.

  Without any proper light it was impossible to find what she was looking for, so she resigned herself to await Simon's return.

  He wasn't long. She heard the door bang as he came inside, and then saw the glow from the two lamps he was carrying.

  He brought one up to her, leaving the other at the foot of the stairs.

  'Here, this what you're after?' he asked, tugging on the neatly folded, familiar sleeping-bags.

  'Yes, I thought it would make more sense to use these than to bother making up the beds.'

  'I agree. I was having a root in the kitchen before you arrived. I think I've managed to locate a jar of instant coffee and some powdered milk. Mrs M must leave it here for when she comes to do her monthly check.'

  Mrs Magellan was the wife of the local garage proprietor. She had a key for the cottage and came up once a month to clean and check that all was in order.

  'I thought I'd use Susie's and my room,' Jenna suggested, handing Simon one of the sleeping-bags, and turning away from him.

  She and Susie had shared the smallest bedroom, tucked up under the eaves, and she headed for it instinctively.

  She only realised that Simon had followed her when she saw the golden glow of the lamp reflecting against the polished wood of the door.

  She turned the handle and the lamp illuminated the interior of the small room. The two single beds that once occupied it had been dismantled and an ominous dark stain covered part of the ceiling.

  'Damn! I forgot… Dad did say something about the roof losing some slates during a bad storm. Let's hope that the damage is just restricted to this room.'

  It wasn't… Out of the cottage's four bedrooms, only one remained damp free.

  It would, of course, have to be Simon's, although his single bed had gone and in its place was the double bed that had once been in his parents' room.

  'Well, Jenna,' Simon announced when they had both surveyed the room in silence, 'it looks that at long last all your girlish dreams are going t
o come true and you get to spend the night with me… I take it that you will… er… behave like a lady?'

  Jenna could have hit him. All those years when she thought she had successfully hidden that embarrassing teenage crush from him, and now he casually let her know that she hadn't! What was more, he actually dared to taunt her with the fact, and to add insult to injury.

  'Don't worry, Simon,' she told him with acid sweetness. 'I'm rather fussy about whom I sleep with—one has to be these days. You'll be quite safe… I'll sleep downstairs.'

  'Oh, well, at least you won't be alone,' he responded comfortingly. 'From the signs I saw in the kitchen, it looks like a whole colony of mice have taken up residence. I suppose they must have come in from the fields.'

  All her life Jenna had had an irrational fear of the small, furry creatures and now immediately she tensed, visions of an entire army of them frolicking over her recumbent form as she slept tormenting her. She shuddered.

  'You're lying to me.'

  Simon's eyebrows rose.

  'Why on earth should I? You don't actually think I have evil designs upon you, do you?'

  Put like that it sounded ridiculous. Of course he didn't want her, she knew that, but she also knew that for some reason he seemed to delight in tormenting her. Tormenting her? How could lying on the same mattress while securely wrapped up in her own sleeping-bag possibly torment her?

  'Look, I'm shattered. You make whatever arrangements you choose, Jenna, but if you'll excuse me I want to get some sleep.'

  'Do you want to take the lamp or…'

  Reluctantly she picked up her sleeping-bag and walked over to the bed.

  Behind her she heard the bedroom door swing shut and for some ridiculous reason she felt as though she had walked into a well-sprung trap.

  'I'll let you have first go at the bathroom,' Simon offered magnanimously, 'but I warn you, the water is like ice.'

  It came from an underground well and Jenna shivered in remembered dread of its icy sting.