It was adequately furnished and quite comfortable in spite of the whitewashed walls and polished wood floor. A fire was laid on the stone hearth. She put a match to it, then sat in one of the wing-backed chairs and rested her right leg on a stool.
The dry wood flared up quickly. She added pine logs from the stack at the side of the hearth and suddenly she was warm again and her ankle seemed to have eased. She took off her leather jacket, hung it over the back of her chair and lit a cigarette, pausing at the alien sound in the distance.
Within a moment or two she knew what it was-a vehicle of some sort being driven surprisingly fast considering the conditions. She sat there waiting and then the noise of it seemed to fill the night and it braked to a halt outside. There was a quick step, the rattle of a key in the lock and the door was flung open.
The man who stood there was of medium height with a weak, sullen face and badly needed a shave. He wore a shabby tweed suit that was a size too large for him and yellow hair poked untidily from beneath the tweed cap.
He held a double-barrelled shotgun in both hands, and lowered it slowly, astonishment on his face. 'Would ye look at that now?'
Asta returned his gaze calmly. 'What do you want?'
'What do I want?' He laughed harshly. 'Now that's a good one. You're trespassing, did you know that? And how the hell did you get in here anyway?'
'Through the kitchen window.'
He shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips quickly, his eyes on her legs, on the skirt that was rucked up above her knees.
'I don't think my boss would like that at all. He's very particular about things like that. I mean, if he knew, he might even consider calling in the police.'
His eyes carried their own message and she took her foot off the stool and pulled down her skirt. 'I turned my ankle back there on the track somewhere. I've just come over Ben Breac.'
'Oh, a hiker? That's nice.'
Asta took a deep breath and stood up, not in the least afraid. 'It's lucky you came. You'll be able to give me a lift, won't you?'
He reached out, clutching at her arm. 'That depends now, doesn't it?'
She was tired and the blotched whisky face was suddenly completely repulsive. 'What's your name?'
He grinned. 'That's more friendly. It's Fergus-Fergus Munro.'
She pulled her arm free and sent him staggering with a vigorous shove of both hands.
'Then don't be stupid, Fergus Munro.'
For a moment he gaped in astonishment and then anger twisted his mouth. He dropped the shotgun and grabbed at her as she turned away, fingers hooking into the neck of her blouse, the thin material ripping along the seam of one shoulder.
She gave a cry of anger, striking out at him, aware of his hands on her, the staleness of his breath, the blotched, drink-sodden face and then beyond him, she saw a man materialise from the darkness to stand in the doorway.
It was the face which held her, the handsome, devil's face, eyes like black holes above high cheekbones, full of cold fury, flaring into a ruthless action that was almost frightening in its efficiency.
One hand fastened on her assailant's collar, another in his belt, tearing him away from her, sending him across the room with a tremendous heave.
Munro crashed against the opposite wall and slid to his knees. For a moment he stayed there, staring up at Chavasse, bewilderment on his face and then he flung himself forward, reaching for the shotgun.
Chavasse kicked it away from him, grabbed for the man's right wrist with both hands, twisting it round and up in an
When Munro picked himself up, blood trickled down his cheek from a cut above the right eye and his face was contorted with fear. He plunged for the open door in complete panic and Chavasse went after him.
'Let him go!' Asta cried sharply.
Chavasse paused, a hand on each side of the door frame and when he turned, the killing mask was still firmly in place. And then he smiled, becoming in that moment almost a different person.
'Are you all right, Miss Svensson?'
She nodded slowly. 'Who are you?'
'My name is Chavasse-Paul Chavasse.'
Outside, the engine of Fergus Munro's Land Rover roared into life and he drove rapidly away down the glen. Chavasse closed the door and when he turned she was sitting in the wing-backed chair again, her right leg back on the footstool.
She chuckled suddenly. 'You know, I was really beginning to despair, Mr. Chavasse. I thought you were never going to catch up with me.'
6
'Was I that obvious?' Chavasse said lightly.
'But of course. On the station platform at Glasgow, that French face of yours stuck out like a sore thumb.'
'Breton,' he said.'
'Is there a difference?'
'My grandfather has forcible opinions on that score.'
'I concede the point.'
'I kiss your hands on his behalf.'
'Oh, no you don't,' she said quickly. 'Or at least not until you've explained yourself. When you appeared again on the platform at Fort William waiting for the Mallaig train, I was intrigued to say the least. Something of a coincidence, considering there were only five passengers in all.'
'But life is full of coincidences,' Chavasse said. 'One of the many things which make it so interesting.'
'Was it a coincidence that you followed me over the mountain?'
'Did I?'
'I saw you when I stopped for my first breather and looked back.'
'Presumably I was a little too late in dropping out of sight-'
'You were.'
A slow smile spread across his face. 'You didn't by any remote chance leave the train deliberately, just to draw me on.'
'But of course,' she said calmly. 'What else could a poor girl do? I was beginning to despair of you and then I consulted my map and saw that there was a way over the mountain to where I wanted to be.' She smiled enchantingly. 'And it was such a beautiful afternoon. A pity to be cooped up in a stuffy carriage.'
'I couldn't agree more.' Chavasse decided to take refuge in as close an approximation to the truth as was possible. 'I suppose I might as well tell all.'
She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. 'Good, I am waiting.'
'It's quite simple, really. I was on the other side of the bookstall on the station platform at Glasgow looking at the magazines when you bought that map you referred to. I was interested as soon as you mentioned Moidart because that happened to be my destination also.'
'Which doesn't explain how you came by my name?'
He shrugged. 'I had a quick look at the labels on your suitcases when the porter put them on the trolley. Asta Svensson-Glenmore House. Then I checked my own map and discovered that Glenmore is no more than five miles from Ardmurchan Lodge which is leased by my uncle, Colonel Duncan Craig. You know him, I suppose?'
