A Real Engagement. Marjorie Lewty

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      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘WHAT the hell are you doing here? Squatting? Que faites-vous ici? Allez-vous en—vite!’

      The deep, angry voice sounded to Josie like thunder as it reached her through thick layers of sleep. She hated storms. She reached for the duvet, to pull it over her head. It wasn’t there. ‘Damn!’ she muttered. It must have fallen on the floor again.

      She rolled over and put out a hand to the familiar bedside lamp. There was no lamp, no table beside the bed either. She opened her eyes wide in the darkened room.

      Then she froze as she saw the huge figure looming up above her, and she knew she was having a nightmare. She tried to scream, but no sound came through her parched lips. The menacing figure did not move. Josie clutched her throat. She was icy cold and shaking all over.

      Then at last the figure moved. There was the sound of heavy footsteps on the tiled floor, a creak as the shutters were folded back and a little light came into the room.

      Josie pulled herself up. Her brain wasn’t working properly yet but she knew that this wasn’t a nightmare. There was a man in the room.

      Indignation displaced fear. ‘How dare you?’ she croaked. ‘Get out of my room.’

      Memory returned in a flash. She had been so tired, so hot after the long journey from London to the South of France, that when she’d found her house, Mon Abri, just behind Menton at last, and opened the front door into what seemed to be a sitting-room, all she’d been able to do was grope her way into the darkened interior, drag off her sundress and collapse on to a divan.

      The man walked back and stood looking down at her. Josie was suddenly, sickeningly aware that she was wearing nothing but a lacy bra and minuscule briefs. With a gasp she leaned over the edge of the divan and groped feverishly for the sundress. It was damp and crumpled, and when she held it up in front of her it covered her rather inadequately, from her neck to her thighs.

      ‘Ah, what a pity!’ the man said softly, and Josie, now completely awake, felt more scared than she had ever done in her life.

      ‘Get out,’ she quavered.

      ‘That’s exactly what you are going to do. And what do you think you’re doing here anyway? Squatting? Or have you been watching my comings and goings and decided to display your—er—attractions?’ His arm shot out and he ripped the sundress away from her and dropped it on the floor again. ‘You’re wasting your time, my girl. I prefer brunettes.’

      Josie gave a strangled gasp of fury. If only she could have got to her feet and delivered a hefty blow to whatever part of his body she could reach! But he was standing so close that if she had tried to stand up she would have had to touch him, and she dared not think what might happen then, in spite of his insulting rejection. What sort of a man was he, anyway? She glanced up at him, but he was standing with his back to the window, and, apart from the fact that he was tall and broad and dark, she couldn’t make out very much of him. He had an educated voice, but that didn’t mean anything.

      Before she could think of a suitably cutting retort he was speaking again. ‘I don’t know why you’ve parked yourself here, or if you are expecting your young friends to join you,’ he said smoothly. ‘But, whatever the reason, I suggest that you get some clothes on and take yourself off, pronto. If you’re not out of here in ten minutes I’ll come back and remove you. I’m living in the next house, so I can watch your departure.’

      With a final glance at her near-naked body he turned away and walked quickly out of the room, closing the front door behind him.

      Josie swung her legs off the divan and stood up. Her knees felt like india rubber. For a full minute she stared at the closed door, seething with rage.

      When Uncle Seb had warned her that she would have neighbours she hadn’t given any thought to the matter, but if this horrible man were to be her neighbour it was going to be disastrous. Had he got a family with him or was he here alone? If he was alone she couldn’t possibly stay.

      Then she clicked her tongue impatiently. What was she thinking of? Her hazel eyes narrowed and her soft mouth hardened into a firm line. She certainly wasn’t going to let a pig of a man spoil her pleasure and excitement in taking over her new house on the French Riviera. To have to put up with neighbours at such close quarters was an unwelcome shock, but she told herself that it was just her bad luck that her first encounter with a neighbour should have been so upsetting.

      Why had the beastly man been so abominably rude? She couldn’t imagine, but there was only one way to find out; confront him and demand an explanation and an apology. She smiled grimly as she pictured just how she would make him grovel.

      Lifting her travel bag on to the divan, she rummaged through it and selected a clean sundress. Her hand encounted a packet of tea-bags in the corner of the bag. She pulled it out with a cry of delight. A cup of tea was just what she needed to revive her and boost up her energy to face her insolent neighbour.

      Slipping the crisp blue sundress over her head, and running a comb through her russet curls, she surveyed the room for the first time. It was long and L-shaped, and bore all the evidence of summer-letting to visitors. There were two lumpy easy chairs, and a badly scratched dining-table with four dining-chairs in place. A huge sideboard stood against one wall and the divan on which she had been lying was pushed against the opposite wall, which must be the dividing wall between the two houses. There was a staircase leading up to the first floor and a door to the left of it, which would be the kitchen door.

      The kitchen, when she had pulled back the shutters to let some light in, proved to be tiny. There was a sink and one tap, a worktop with a kettle on it, two or three cupboards, a few hooks on the wall, and that was all. She would have to change everything, she thought, but meanwhile—tea.

      She turned on the tap, but nothing happened except a faint gurgle. The water was evidently turned off. She got on to her knees and tried to find a tap under the sink. There was no tap, but her groping fingers encountered a pipe which seemed to run along the wall and disappear into the next-door house.

      Josie’s smouldering rage burst into flames. The wretch must have turned off her water supply to make sure she could not stay here. Well, she would see about that.

      With the light of battle in her large hazel eyes, she strode out through her front door to the door marked Maison les Roches, which must be the next house. There was no bell, so she knocked hard, which relieved her feelings slightly but bruised her knuckles. When there was no reply she pushed the door. It opened into what was evidently the main sitting-room, which was in better condition than her room next door. There were comfortable chairs, rugs on the floor and an elegant staircase on one side of the room. Its elegance was rather marred by the fact that the wall which divided the two houses seemed to push itself against the carved balusters. A small table with two chairs stood on the opposite side of the room and on it was—wonder of wonders—a steaming teapot, a jug of milk and one cup.

      The delicious smell of freshly brewed tea was too much for Josie. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she poured a cup for herself, added milk and drank blissfully. That was better. Now she could give all her attention to defeating the Enemy.

      Footsteps sounded above her head, and a moment СКАЧАТЬ