Darkly flushed under Connel's mocking gaze, she snapped, 'He broke into my cottage…'
'I walked in after ringing the bell; the front door was unlocked.'
'You picked me up and carried me forcibly upstairs! Then locked me into my own bedroom!'
Mark whistled. 'I have to agree, Con, you do have a nerve. Not many men would be brave enough to take such a risk.'
Other guests drifted closer, eavesdropping in fascination, but Connel Hillier seemed untroubled by the scene he was causing. His voice casual, he said, 'You forced me to manhandle you by being unreasonable. I would never have done it otherwise. You tried to make me leave when it was really all your fault that I was freezing and soaked to the skin. Have you told your sister that? Did you tell her how long you left me standing in that storm, waiting for a taxi you never sent?'
'I did ring for one!'
'An hour later!'
'Half an hour later, maybe,' she reluctantly admitted.
'While I stood there getting wetter and wetter. I might have caught pneumonia. I had to get my saturated clothes off at once, and have a hot shower. It was a question of survival.' He looked piteously at Sancha, whose face was concerned. Zoe regarded her sister irritably. Sancha was always being sorry for people!
Connel added, 'And I cooked my own meal.'
Sancha looked at Zoe reprovingly. 'You should have done that for him in those circumstances, Zo!'
Before Zoe could retort, Connel added with a sigh, 'And I washed my clothes, myself. I didn't ask you to do anything for me, did I? And when you fell asleep while I was eating my supper I…'
'Oh, shut up!' she shouted, having left out the final instalment of the story when she told her sister and Martha what had happened.
'She fell asleep?' asked Mark, eyes bright.
'At the table!' Connel nodded.
'So what did you do then?'
'I'm a gentleman. What else could I do but carry her upstairs?'
'Absolutely,' agreed Mark solemnly. 'And then what did you do?'
Before Connel could reply Zoe got to her feet 'I want to talk to you!' she said to him through her teeth, face hot, and stalked away, hearing Mark laughing behind her. She and her brother-in-law had very little in common—or maybe far too much?
They were both determined and confident, both exercised authority without losing sleep over it Telling people what to do didn't worry either of them. But they had never got on. She disapproved of the way Mark treated her sister; he disliked almost all her attitudes to life, the universe, everything, but particularly towards his own sex. Mark expected respectful submission—and he had never got it from her!
'Where are you taking me?' Connel murmured, catching up with her. 'Somewhere private? How about your cottage? Preferably your bedroom. I liked it in there. I had fun.'
They were out of view of the rest of the party by then, behind a row of young Leyland cypress which Mark had planted when he laid out this garden, to screen the garbage bins and a shed, and which were busily shooting up skywards although they were only a few years old.
Turning on Connel, Zoe coldly said, 'What exactly have you told my brother-in-law?'
'Not a syllable,' he drawled, looking down at her from his greater height with gleaming, narrowed eyes. 'He only knows what you told him.'
She didn't believe him. 'Then how come he kept laughing like that?'
'I guess he found you funny. Doesn't everybody? Let me give you a tiny piece of advice. If you don't want people to be curious, don't make them suspect you're trying to hide something.'
She froze on the spot. 'What am I supposed to be hiding?'
'You tell me.' But he watched her with those mocking eyes and her colour rose even higher.
'I don't know! And you know I don't know. But you know…'
'No, I don't know,' he said, grinning. 'What exactly do you suspect I know? Or is it as plain as the nose on my face?'