Better to concede defeat, she told herself, instead of being dragged ignominiously out of hiding. He'd find her anyway as soon as he spotted the broken cover of the well. His peremptory tone suggested he had a right to be there, that he wasn't a wandering rapist or killer.
She took a deep breath and called, "I'm here."
He had already located her. Kneeling on the edge of the well he looked down, and the shadow of his body further darkened the gloom. The face that hovered close to hers was not the one she had expected to see, but it was only too familiar.
He recognized her too. Astonishment replaced his scowl, and an unpleasant smile widened his thin mouth. "Why, if it isn't my distinguished colleague Dr. Holloway! Fancy meeting you here."
"Hello, Bill." She managed to keep her voice under control. He sat back on his heels, studying her with that insufferable smile. "Would you be good enough to help me up?" she inquired.
"Oh, certainly. A pleasure. Give me your hands." Instead of grasping them he took hold of her arms just above the elbows. She clutched at his sleeves as he rose to his feet, lifting her without apparent effort. Her feet slipped on the wet leaves and she tottered, on the rim of the well. Meyer caught her in his arms and pulled her back onto solid ground. Instead of letting her go, he drew her closer. One arm circled her shoulders so firmly that she had to choose between resting her head against his chest or tilting it back at an angle that brought their faces into such close proximity that his breath warmed her cold lips.
Karen fought the temptation to struggle. Futile efforts to free herself would only amuse and exhilarate him, and she had a feeling he was well aware of how desperately she hated being held helpless. Maybe this was the moment to apply "conscious virtue," the last defense of beleaguered heroines who freed themselves from the villain's lustful embraces by forcing him to admit their moral superiority. Looking Meyer straight in the eye, she said coldly, "Thank you. You can put me down now."
According to the books, his eyes ought to have fallen and his cheek mantled with shame. He had read the same books, though, and he was infuriatingly quick at catching nuances. With a shout of uninhibited laughter, he quoted from one of the classics. " 'He stood for a moment the slave of virtue, though the votary of vice.' Fear not, innocent maiden, rescue is at hand."
"Have you found him?" The distant voice was a woman's, clear and anxious. "Be careful, William, he might have a gun."
"It's not a he, it's a she, and she is unarmed," Meyer answered. He backed out through the clustering lilacs, dragging Karen with him. A branch clawed at her face; another caught the dripping scarf and yanked it over her eyes.
Too depressed even to swear, Karen pushed the wet folds of cloth away and saw, as she might have expected, that the newcomer was young, attractive, and smartly dressed. Her spotless raincoat was pink, belted tightly around her narrow waist. A jaunty matching hat failed to cover a mass of blond hair—the kind of hair that curls bewitchingly with damp instead of subsiding into limp flatness. Neatly cut boots covered her calves.
"Mah Gawd," she said.
She then proceeded to complete Karen's humiliation by adding, in a less pronounced but prettily slurred Virginia accent, "You poor thing! There's a shelter for homeless people in town, it's really quite nice, Ah work there one day a week. William, let her go this instant minute, you're frightening her."
The effort Meyer made to keep from laughing made his voice crack. "I'm holding on to her because she seems to have sprained at least one ankle and I suspect she'll collapse if I let go. You are under a slight but understandable misapprehension, Lisa. Allow me to introduce Professor Karen Holloway of Calhoun College. Karen, this is Lisa Fairweather— the owner of this property."
The house wasn't entirely empty of furniture. Someone must camp out there from time to time; a small room next to the kitchen contained a cot and a table and chair. After Karen had been deposited on the cot Lisa said, "I'll just make some coffee, shall I? No, honey, it's no trouble at all, I do assure you. Cameron spends the night occasionally, to discourage trespassers, and he'd as soon face the mornin' without his trousers as without his coffee. It won't take a minute."
She trotted out, her face still flushed with embarrassment at her faux pas. Thank God I'm not that nice-minded, Karen thought. I don't blame her for mistaking me for a vagrant; I sure as hell look like one.
Meyer pulled up a chair and sat down, facing her. "You'd better get those wet shoes off," he suggested, making no move to assist her in doing so.
"What are you doing here?"
"The same thing you are, obviously."
He crossed his legs and leaned back. "I was fairly certain you were the favored purchaser Hallett mentioned. You owe your reputation to Ismene; you'd do anything to gain possession of that manuscript. Just out of curiosity, how did you persuade the dear old gentleman to give you preference?"
Karen gave him a cold stare. "What a low-down filthy mind you have, Bill. You couldn't possibly understand the reasons why Simon approached me first; they have to do with trust, friendship, decency and other things beyond your limited comprehension. I wasn't referring to your reason for being here; I was inquiring how you found out where the manuscript came from."
"Oh, I see. You
