Lightning Encounter by Anne Saunders Read Free Book Online Page A

nose, but she daren’t for the life of her leave them alone. Bad as it was, she felt that while ever she remained at least they wouldn’t come to blows.
    â€˜Shall we push off?’ said Ian after what seemed like hours, but couldn’t have been more than a hand-count of seconds.
    â€˜Yes.’ Was that tight little voice hers? Oh dear, she hadn’t meant to sound so condemning, even if she was. Mitch just didn’t seem to be defending himself and she attributed this to a sweet and touching consideration for her.
    She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mitch.’ She smiled somewhat frantically, trying to convey her allegiance without using words. She thought, as their fingers touched in brief handclasp, he looked comforted, reassured that she hadn’t gone over to the other side. Whether the exchange of glances was intercepted or not, her wrist was rudely clasped and she was speedily propelled from the dining room.
    â€˜What did you talk about?’ demanded her abductor, his eyes dark and dictatorial.
    â€˜N . . . nothing,’ she said, ashamed of the tremor in her voice. ‘I thanked him for his presence of mind in dragging me clear of the wreckage.’ She thought, what am I doing, apologising? I owe this man nothing! Well, perhaps a few clothes, and a hospital bill. Presumably he had paid. Certainly no one had presented her with a bill. All right, so she did owe him something, but it wasn’t in her to grovel. Even though her heart was beating fast and she had been feeling decidedly queer for the past few minutes, she couldn’t stop the arrogant lift of her chin as she inquired spiritedly: ‘I trust thanks were in order.’
    â€˜Perfectly. You did the right thing. Now there is no need for you to talk to him again.’
    â€˜But he might talk to me first. Then what do I do?’
    â€˜I don’t know. You’re a woman. It’s a woman’s situation. Handle it. By the way, it’s through there.’
    â€˜What is?’
    â€˜The ladies’ room. If you want to powder your nose, I’ll wait for you in the car.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    It was a relief to escape from him for a while. To stand up to the Ians of the world one needed a stouter pair of legs than she possessed. She swayed and urgently gripped the washbasin. Her dizzy spell lasted for only a moment. As soon as she was sufficiently recovered, she held her wrists under the cold water tap, and splashed her face. How good it felt, tingling cold and reviving.
    Her hand went up to the ledge above the washbasin in a gesture that was purely automatic. But her searching fingers met nothing, because there was nothing on the ledge for them to meet.
    It came home to her, for perhaps the first time, just how much she had lost, how much had gone up in flames. Her luggage, her handbag, filled with all those trivial possessions that are so much a part of a woman’s way of life. A phial of perfume, carefully saved for very special occasions. The tortoise-shell comb, stamped with her own personal initials. Her lipstick.
    She began to cry then, the tears came splashing hurriedly down her cheeks, all because she didn’t own a lipstick. She was suffering, not from shock, but from an overdose of emotionalism. It had all happened too quickly, and had been a bit too much. And to cap it all, her best friend was her enemy.
    I will not drive that dratted car. I will not, not, not. I will tell him to go to blazes before I will get in that car and drive.
    But he was in the driving seat. He was in the driving seat! She was almost beside herself with elation and she ran across the forecourt, stumbling and almost tripping herself up in her eagerness to occupy the passenger seat. Before he did.
    Ah! Heavenly not to have to handle awkward, unfamiliar gears, not to have to think, listen to directions, not to have to wait, watch and anticipate.
    â€˜Oh, by the way,’ he said, overplaying the casual