Merlyn's Magic. Carole Mortimer
is Rand,’ she confirmed with a casualness she was far from feeling, relieved the other woman had guessed who the neighbour was and she didn't have to go into the details of her stupidity in front of this broodingly quiet man.
‘Oh dear,’ Anne groaned.
‘Yes,’ she agreed wholeheartedly.
‘What a mess,’ the other woman muttered.
That had to be even more of an understatement than the one Merlyn had made seconds ago; it was a catastrophe! From what Anne had told her, and what she had read herself about Brandon Carmichael, he was never going to believe she hadn't planned this whole thing, right down to the rain!
‘The ford is flooded, right?’ Anne guessed heavily.
Merlyn glanced at Rand as he crossed the room to pour himself a glass of brandy. ‘I'm afraid so,’ she answered the other woman.
‘Does Brandon—know, about you?’ The grimace could be heard in Anne's voice.
‘Not yet,’ she sighed, wishing she could be long gone from here before he did.
Anne drew in a ragged breath. ‘Do you want me to tell him?'
‘God, no!’ she protested; she had to spend the rest of the evening and the long night in the same house with this man!
‘No, probably not,’ Anne conceded ruefully. ‘You'll come up to the hotel and see us before travelling back to London?'
There was no point in either of them pretending there was any reason to go through with the visit now, and Merlyn was grateful for the other woman's understanding. ‘Yes,’ she agreed heavily. ‘I'll do that.'
‘Does Brandon want to talk to me?’ the other woman prompted with obvious reluctance.
Merlyn glanced across at him as he grimly swallowed down the contents of his glass. ‘Rand?’ She held out the receiver to him questioningly, shrugging as he shook his head. ‘He—he's busy at the moment,’ she excused his rudeness to his sister-in-law.
‘I'll bet,’ Anne said knowingly. ‘Merlyn, go easy with him today. It's—–’ The line went dead.
‘Anne? Anne!’ she questioned worriedly, shaking the receiver, as if it were its fault that the call had been terminated so abruptly.
‘The lines have gone down,’ Rand informed her without concern, confirming her worst suspicions. ‘I'm surprised it didn't happen before now in this weather,’ he told her in a calm voice.
She was completely alone, cut off here, with a man who would have reason to hate her if he realised who she was! Although her name hadn't elicited the response she had been dreading, only a mocking scepticism. Christopher had said Rand turned down every actress he proposed. Maybe, by the time they got to her, the fourth in line, they hadn't even got as far as the relating-her-name stage!
‘Merlyn?’ Rand looked at her scornfully.
She frowned, putting down the telephone receiver now that it was no longer of any use to her, running her hands nervously down her denim-clad thighs as she felt their damp palms. ‘Yes?'
‘No, I meant—Merlyn?’ He sceptically repeated her name.
The flush to her cheeks came from anger this time. ‘That is my name, yes,’ she challenged.
His mouth twisted, his eyes cold. ‘And can you do magic?’ he jeered.
‘I don't know,’ she answered. ‘I've never tried!'
He gave a bitter laugh. ‘There's no such thing as magic,’ he dismissed in a hard voice. ‘How on earth did you get a name like that?’ he derided harshly.
‘After the birth of my brother, my mother had herself sterilised,’ Merlyn told him quietly. ‘She was more than surprised to find herself pregnant again eight years later.'
‘Magic!’ acknowledged Rand hardly.
‘Considering my parents rarely saw each other enough to make love, it was all the more of a shock,’ Merlyn nodded. ‘My father was the one sent for an operation this time.'
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Poor bastard!'
She shrugged. ‘I don't think he was all that thrilled to find himself a father again at forty-six, either!'
Rand turned away. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he bit out, pouring himself another one while he waited for her answer.
‘The coffee will be fine—–'
‘It will be cold by now,’ he dismissed.
‘I'll make some more,’ she offered, picking up the tray. The way he was knocking back the brandy he was going to be needing a lot of black coffee soon! Unless this was how he spent his days now—she knew that he left the running of his considerable businesses to a number of assistants.
‘Could you manage to “conjure” up some dinner for both of us?’ he prompted. ‘The only household staff I have come up from the village each day,’ he explained abruptly. ‘And I gave them all the day off.'
Considering the weather, that had been a very wise decision; Rand might have ended up with a houseful of unwanted guests instead of just one! As far as Merlyn was concerned, that might not have been a bad thing. ‘I'll see what I can find,’ she nodded. Food might help to counteract the alcohol he had been consuming, too.
It was a delightful kitchen, obviously belonging to a time long-gone, with its huge open fireplace, copper pots and saucepans hanging from hooks along its ledge. But Merlyn quickly discovered that although the charm and character had been maintained in the room it was also filled with every modern convenience, from a dishwasher to an electric knife.
The freezer was stocked with already prepared meals that just had to be defrosted in the microwave and then heated in the oven, and Merlyn mentally thanked the absent cook as she placed the beef casserole in the oven to warm through, making the mixture for dumplings before dropping them into the already warming meal, its aroma mouthwatering.
The kitchen at her flat was adequate, but it was nothing like the luxury of this one, and Merlyn was humming softly to herself as she put an apple pie in the oven with the beef. The humming stopped abruptly as she straightened, her face flushed from the heat of the oven, to find Rand Carmichael leaning against the wall just inside the kitchen, watching her every movement.
‘As I haven't seen you since you brought up the fresh coffee almost an hour ago, I thought perhaps you had made your escape out the back door while you had the chance,’ he drawled.
Merlyn frowned a little as he made it sound as if she were a prisoner here, although considering the state of the roads and the broken telephone lines perhaps that was what she was! ‘That would have been ungrateful of me,’ she dismissed, with an effort at her usual confidence, although just knowing who he was made that difficult, if not impossible.
‘But perhaps wise.’ He straightened. ‘I was near to being drunk.'
‘Was?’ She frowned at the past tense; he had seemed pretty far gone to her.
He gave a mocking inclination of his head at her bluntness. ‘I drank a couple of cups of black coffee and then took a shower. I can assure you I am now completely sober.'
That he had taken a shower was obvious by his still-damp hair, although even now it was drying back into those riotously dark curls. But the reckless glint had gone from his eyes, the anger from his expression, and in its place had come a weary look, almost of defeat.
‘I hope you like what I've chosen for dinner,’ she said lightly, some of her tension dissipating now that she was sure she didn't have a drunken host to contend with; she had a feeling this man could be dangerous enough, without that. ‘There's a beef casserole, with baked potatoes, and apple pie—–'
‘I'm sure it will be fine,’ he dismissed as a man not much interested in the food he ate, ingesting it