'Oh, I don't know,' Chavasse said. 'He probably wants to keep an eye on them.'
She still looked dubious and, in a deliberate attempt to steer the conversation away from the dangerous course it had taken, he pointed down the hillside to where a stone hut nestled in a hollow a couple of hundred feet below.
'That'll be the deer stalker's bothy my uncle said we'd make for. Come on-let's see what you're made of.'
He grabbed her hand and plunged down the mountainside and Asta Svensson shrieked in delight as they rushed downwards, stumbling over tussocks, never stopping until they reached the hollow.
They went over the edge, sliding the last few feet and then she lost her balance and fell, dragging Chavasse with her. They rolled over twice and came to rest in the soft cushion of the heather. She lay on her back, breathless with laughter and Chavasse pushed himself up on one elbow to look down at her.
Her laughter faded and in a strangely simple gesture, she reached up and touched his face gently and for one long moment he forgot everything except the colour of that wonderful hair, the scent of her in his nostrils. When they kissed, her body was soft and yielding and she was all sweetness and honey, everything a man could desire.
He rolled on his back and she pushed herself up on one elbow, looking utterly complacent. 'Not unexpected, but very satisfactory.'
'Put it down to the altitude,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'
'I'm not.'
'You should be. I'm fifteen years too old for you.'
'Now that's the English side of you coming out,' she said. 'The only country in Europe where age is presumed to have a dampening effect on love.'
He lit a cigarette without answering and she sighed and leaned over him, a frown on her face. 'Each time we meet I have the same feeling-that somehow, you are in two places at once. Here in person, somewhere else in thought.'
'You're a romantic, that's all,' he said lazily.
'Am I?' she said. 'But this raises limitless possibilities. I can imagine anything I want, for example.'
'Such as?'
'Oh, that you are not what you seem to be. That you followed me over the mountain for a deeper reason than you admitted. That you aren't even a university lecturer.'
'That's licence, not imagination,' he said lightly.
'Oh, but I'm not the only one to think so.'
He turned to look at her sharply and, suddenly, his face was wiped clean of all expression, the face of a stranger. 'And who else indulges in this kind of fantasy?'
'Max,' she said. 'I heard him talking to Ruth last night. He told her to get in touch with Essex University. To check on you.'
Chavasse laughed harshly. 'Perhaps he wonders whether I'm after your money. I don't think he's pleased to see other men in your life.'
She rolled on to her back and stared up into the sky, her face troubled. 'He's over-protective, that's all. Sometimes I think that perhaps I resemble my mother too much for his comfort.'
Chavasse reached out and took her hand gently. 'Are you afraid of him?'
It was a long moment before she replied. 'Yes, I think I am, which is strange, because just as surely, I know he could never hurt me.'
She drew a deep breath and scrambled to her feet. 'But this is nonsense. I came out for the deer-stalking, not psycho-analysis.'
A cry drifted down to them on the warm air and they looked up to see Colonel Craig and George Gunn above them on the shoulder.
'This way, you two,' the old man cried.
She turned to face Chavasse, her face calm and yet there was something very close to an appeal in her eyes and he took her hands in his.
'I would never willingly see you hurt, Asta. Do you believe that?'
Something seemed to go out of her in a long sigh and she leaned against him. 'Oh, I needed to hear that, Paul. You'll never know how much.'
He kissed her gently on the mouth and when they went up the hill, they walked hand in hand.
9
Beyond the French windows, the beech trees above the river were cut out of black cardboard against a sky that was streaked a vivid orange above the mountains. Inside, it was warm and comfortable and Asta in a silk dress of apple green, playing the grand piano softly, was somehow a part of the stillness of the evening just before nightfall.
It was a comfortable room, panelled in oak three centuries old and Donner had had the sense to furnish it in character. The soft light came from a tall standard lamp and a log fire crackled on the wide stone hearth.
Donner, Colonel Craig and Jack Murdoch were in evening wear, but Chavasse wore a beautifully tailored suit of dark worsted that somehow gave him an elegance lacking in the others.
The door opened and Stavrou entered with more coffee. He placed it on the table and Ruth Murray said, 'I'll see to that, Stavrou. You can go.'
He departed as silently as he had come and she got to her feet and moved forward, an attractive figure in a deceptively simple black dress.
'Can I offer you some more coffee, Colonel Craig?' she said.
The old man held up a hand. 'No thanks, my dear, not for me.'
'Another brandy, then?' Donner said.
'Hard to say no. It's the best I've tasted in a long, long time, Mr. Donner.'
'Plenty more where that came from,' Donner said and nodded to Murdoch who got up obediently and reached for the decanter.
Colonel Craig held out his glass. 'And the dinner-remarkable, that's the only word for it. No local cook, I'll be bound.'
Donner chuckled, obviously pleased. 'I should say not. My man Stavrou handles that department. He's Greek and when they're good, they're really good.'
And the dinner had been good, Chavasse had to give him that and leaning on the piano, listening to Asta play, he watched the group by the fire casually.
In any group of people anywhere, large or small, Max Donner would have stood out and Murdoch lounging in the corner, idly fondling the ears of the Doberman sprawled beside his chair, wore his evening clothes with the sort of careless ease to be expected from a man of his background and breeding.
He sipped his drink slowly, staring across the rim of his glass at Ruth Murray who sat beside Colonel Craig on the settee. He wants her, Chavasse thought, but he's too scared of Donner to make any kind of approach.
Ruth Murray held out her glass for the fourth time and Murdoch picked up the decanter and filled it for her. Donner moved forward and in a casual gesture that would have been missed by most people, plucked the glass from her hand.
'You don't look much like a bridge man to me, Colonel,' he said. 'How about a game of billiards? Jack and I play most nights.'
'All right, by me,' the old man said, getting to his feet. 'What about you, Paul?'
Chavasse grinned. 'I'm fine where I am. I don't know where you get the energy from. This afternoon just about finished me off.'
'Suit yourself,' Donner said and he and the other two men went out.
Ruth Murray reached for the brandy decanter and filled another glass. She got to her feet and crossed to the piano. 'I hear you were in the wars again this morning, Mr. Chavasse?'
'A slight misunderstanding,' Chavasse said blandly. 'Nothing more.'
She was a little tight and when she leaned on the piano and spoke to Asta her eyes were full of malice.
'Did you enjoy yourself this afternoon?'
'Tremendously,' Asta said and continued to play. 'You should have come with us, Ruth. It was quite an experience.'
'I'm sure it was.'
'Oh, yes, I learned many things.' Asta stopped playing to tick them off on her fingers. 'That you cannot stalk a stag down-wind, even at a thousand yards. That I must never hurry. Never attempt to shoot when I am out of breath. Always shoot low if the target is down-hill.'