Lightning Encounter by Anne Saunders Read Free Book Online

this time I’ll be gallant and spare your blushes. The name is Howard Mitchell. Call me Mitch. May I join you for a moment?’
    â€˜Yes, of course. Karen Shaw. I’m sorry for not thinking, please do. My escort is making a telephone call.’
    â€˜Yes, Karen. I spotted friend Ian in the telephone booth when I passed. I may call you Karen? After what we’ve been through I can hardly call you Miss Shaw!’
    â€˜Not very well. In any case, I prefer Christian names. I hate formality. So, you and Ian are acquainted?’
    â€˜Ah . . . yes: We’re not exactly on kissing terms. Tell me, how did a nice girl like you get in his clutches?’
    She sighed. ‘It’s a long story. If ever you’ve an evening to spare, I’ll tell you.’
    â€˜The day after tomorrow?’ he suggested. ‘That’s Wednesday. Eightish? Here?’
    â€˜Oh, but I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t angling.’
    â€˜I know, I know. But I am. I want to see you again. Is it on?’
    â€˜Well, I’m not sure of my plans.’
    â€˜But you’ll try to make it?’ Blue eyes have a knack of pressing sincerity.
    â€˜Yes, I’ll try.’ She felt breathless, out of her depth, grateful. This man had saved her from severe disability, or worse. He might even have saved her life, so that did partially obligate her. It also reminded her: ‘I think thanks are in order. I believe you risked scorching your nose to drag me clear.’
    â€˜It was nothing,’ he said. His grin spread like warmed treacle, and was every bit as sweet. ‘I’d do the same for any winsome girl.’ Then he leaned forward and pretended to screw a finger into the dimple to the left of her mouth, the dimple his sauciness had conjured up.
    She saw Ian threading his way back to their table, and spotted the reaction on his face when he saw she was chatting to Mitch. Mitch hadn’t lied when he said they weren’t on kissing terms; they weren’t on any terms as far as she could see, save, perhaps, bad ones. Ian’s mouth clamped rigid, and it drew from her an involuntary: ‘Oh dear! Here comes Big Brother!’ But as he came nearer she wondered if she’d imagined the antagonism, because his face now wore the look of basic politeness one adopts when approaching someone who merely skirts the outer circle of one’s acquaintance.
    â€˜Blast!’ said Mitch. Then in undertones: ‘Look, about Wednesday. Do try.’
    â€˜Yes, yes. I said I would. But don’t wait too long for me if I can’t make it.’
    â€˜No, I won’t wait too long. Only for ever.’ His voice was so faint it was little more than a breath curving down from her ear to her cheek, and her hand went up in a stupid way, as if words could be cupped, and kept.
    Meanwhile, Mitch was raising his voice and saying with false heartiness:
    â€˜Hello, Ian, old chap! How’s tricks? Haven’t seen you at the club for weeks.’
    â€˜Golf,’ said Ian for Karen’s benefit, keeping his glance centred on Mitch. ‘We are both fond of a round of golf. I’ve often thought that for two such opposite types, we share a marked similarity of taste.’
    Whatever the thrust, it went home. Mitch looked slaughtered, and his cheeks paled to sheet-white.
    â€˜Ian and I were at school together,’ he gabbled hastily, as if it was imperative to explain. ‘In the same form.’
    â€˜And admired the same form,’ came the swift reply. The nearest thing Karen could liken his tone to was crisp irony. She knew what it was like to be at the whipping end of Ian’s tongue, and her heart went out to Mitch, looking so strained and white and funny. And the silence was even worse, because even though Ian stopped mincing him up with his tongue, his eyes went right on sharpening themselves on Mitch’s by this time, averted profile.
    She felt a desperate need to powder her