Comparative Strangers Read Free

rally, one of his best results ever, and she had rung the hotel where he was staying to congratulate him the previous evening, so she knew his room number.
    But the planned surprise had rebounded on her, she thought, wincing, as the pain of his betrayal lashed at her again. She had never loved anyone else but Nigel. And now she never would. Never could.
    She had first met Nigel just over a year ago, when the company she worked for had been helping sponsor a rally in the Lake District, and had held a lavish reception for the drivers. Amanda had been roped in to help, making sure that everyone mixed socially, and that the drinks circulated too.
    She didn’t know what had made her look up at one point, but it had been to find Nigel watching her from the other side of the room. He had raised his glass in a silent and admiring toast, and she had turned away, blushing and biting her lip, wishing savagely that she had several more years' maturity and a wealth of sophistication to draw on.
    When he had made his way to her side, she hadn’t been able to believe it. He was already a name in rally circles—one of its young, rising stars, the papers said, although a few sports writers had commented in caustic terms on his good fortune in having the Templeton money to back up his ambitions.
    Amanda had no illusions about herself. She was attractive enough, she supposed, if rather over-slender, with her green eyes, and a mane of reddish-chestnut hair which she kept tied back for work. But she had no wealthy background, nor any kind of star quality to compete with Nigel’s.
    But, miraculously, that seemed to be what he wanted. And when, after a few months of wining, dining and dancing together, he’d asked her to marry him, she’d agreed without hesitation, hardly able to credit her good luck. And she’d been living in a fool’s paradise ever since, she reminded herself with angry bitterness.
    She was brought out of her unhappy reverie with startling suddenness by an imperative rattling at the bathroom door.
    Malory’s voice said sternly, ‘Are you in there, Amanda? What’s taking so long?’
    ‘I’m having a bath,‘ she called back, remembering too late that she’d forgotten to lock the door, and looking round frantically for the nearest towel.
    Through the panels of the door, his voice sounded grim. ‘As long as that’s all. I’m counting to ten, Amanda, and if you’re not out of there by then, I’m coming in.’
    She realised he was concerned in case she was overdosing, or cutting her wrists with her own miniature razor, and a tiny bubble of hysteria welled up inside her.
    But, meanwhile, the countdown seemed to be proceeding, and she hauled herself rapidly out of the cooling water, blotting the excess moisture from her body before tugging on her robe and knotting its sash firmly round her waist.
    Malory had reached ‘Two!‘ when she flung open the door and confronted him.
    She said, ‘I don’t need a minder.’ She sounded altogether more uptight than she’d intended and, as his brows rose, made haste to modify her approach. ‘Malory, this afternoon I went slightly crazy. I don’t quite know what happened, but I do know that it’s not going to happen again.’
    ‘So will I please go and leave you to your own devices,’ he finished for her.
    Amanda flushed. ‘Well—yes.’
    He studied her for a moment, his face expressionless. Then he said, ‘Just as you wish’ and, turning, went downstairs. She was brushing her hair in the bedroom when she heard his car drive away, and drew a breath of profound relief.
    She couldn’t deny that he’d been very kind, but it irked her that it should ever have been necessary. She had behaved like the top hysterical idiot of all time, and that was quite bad enough, without having Malory Templeton observing the whole performance as if she was some specimen for dissection.
    Of course, he’d had an emotional set-back of his own, although he’d seemed to take it pretty much