Bewildered Haven Page 2

  There was a sudden jolt and the accompanying crunch of metal against metal, and Jenny felt her stomach lurch sickeningly as she switched off the engine. Shaken and alarmed, she emerged from behind the wheel of her car and turned, her heart plummeting at the sight of none other than Mr. Benedict himself standing inspecting the damage! to the front of his mustard-coloured, 280SE Mercedes-Benz.

  That car hadn't been anywhere in sight when Jenny had begun to reverse, and she lost no time in telling him so.

  'As you hesitated half-way out from your parking space, I naturally assumed you had observed a vehicle in your rear-vision mirror and intended allowing it to pass,' he commented wryly, his eyes inscrutable behind dark glasses. 'If you must reverse by looking first over one shoulder and then the other, there's obviously a brief space of time when you lack continued visibility.'

  Jenny looked up at him wearily, aware that he seemed to be positively towering over her. 'Oh—fiddle-faddle!' she snapped crossly. 'You must have swooped down that ramp far in. excess of the regulation five miles per hour to have appeared so quickly behind me!'

  'My dear young lady,' he began mildly, and Jenny sensed an underlying dryness in his tone, 'you're quite clearly in the—'

  'I am not your dear anything!' she interrupted angrily, and positively glared up at him, 'And are not likely to be anybody's dear anything, if you insist upon being so prickly,' he informed her with asperity.

  His words stopped her effectively, and unaccountably hurt by his sarcasm Jenny was suddenly bereft of words. Her head thumped abominably and she felt the prick of tears beneath her eyelids.

  'There doesn't appear to be much damage done to either car,' she managed shakily, ascertaining that her left rear lights were broken and the metal surrounding the light panel was dented. It seemed doubtful that his car had suffered much more than a slight dent and a scratched side panel. Jenny fumbled with the clasp of her shoulder-bag and searched for a piece of paper and a pen. 'I believe the correct procedure is to exchange particulars.' She found what she was searching for and hurriedly wrote down her name, address and car registration number before handing it to him, noticing for the first time the queue of cars banking up behind the Mercedes-Benz.

  Silently Mr. Benedict took the paper she held out and pocketed it, then reached into his jacket and withdrew a slim leather-bound notebook and pen. He stroked several lines in quick succession, then tore out the page and solemnly handed it to her. 'Au revoir, Jenny Meredith,' he saluted mockingly, watching intently as she thrust the paper into her bag and turned to slide in behind the wheel of her car.

  Jenny was conscious of his car following closely behind hers all the way down to ground level, and when she swung out into the lane of traffic she couldn't resist a quick glance in her rear-vision mirror. His slight smile and raised hand were all she needed to set her pulse racing and her blood boiling with indignation. It had been his fault, she was sure of it, but with a few well-chosen words he'd reduced her to feeling like an incompetent foolish teenager.

  The traffic was unusually heavy that evening and it took longer than usual to reach her flat. Inside she cast down her bag, slipped off her shoes and flipped idly through the letters she had retrieved from the mailbox-ran electricity adjustment account, a household brochure, and a bulky letter from her mother. Half an hour later, having showered and washed her hair, Jenny settled down to read its contents, a cup of black coffee beside her and her head partially submerged beneath a portable hair-dryer. It appeared her sister Jane, the younger by almost five years, was being difficult again, for she had booked her flight to Australia and intended travelling with two other girls equally irresponsible, and Jenny must come home at the weekend to help dissuade her.

  Jenny smiled a little, reflecting that at nineteen Jane had all her priorities nicely set out and was quietly but determinedly going her own way. She began painting her nails and sighed reflectively that a weekend at home might not be a bad idea. It would be nice to be fussed over, and for Jane's sake she must try to persuade her mother that Jane was more than capable of looking after herself whether it be in Melbourne or Mount Isa, and that she doubted very much Jane would be bitten to death by a snake or kicked insensible by a kangaroo!

  Dianne and her husband George called for Jenny promptly at seven-thirty, introducing the man they had commandeered to partner Jenny for the evening. Jim Bickerton was of medium height with fair sandy-coloured hair curling well down on to the back of his collar. Blue eyes sparkled with a hint of humour in their depths as he frankly admired the attractive girl before him. Both he and Jenny exchanged a light wink when Dianne listed his degree in medicine—a doctor, so less! They were to meet the remaining two couples who were to make up the group at the restaurant, and Jenny supposed she should be grateful to Dianne and George for caring sufficiently ,to include her in the evening's entertainment. It was so difficult to persuade Dianne that it was too soon yet—that unreasonable or not, she really did want to be on her own for a while longer before she considered meeting other men socially.

  At the restaurant Jenny chose the filet mignon, mentally assuring herself that Mr. Benedict's voiced preference for the dish had nothing to do with it. Somehow she could imagine his sardonic smile if by chance he could have witnessed her choice. There must be something wrong with her, she chided herself irrationally— the last man she wanted to think about was the hateful Mr. Benedict! Instinct caused her to look across the dimly lit room into a corner recess, to seek and find a pair of dark gleaming eyes regarding her. intently. Mr. Benedict himself, no less, immaculately suited in black, his shirt linen starkly white, and at his side an attractive blonde girl whose facial beauty was quite startling. Sexy, too, Jenny elaborated when she saw them dancing a short while later. The girl's gown was skilfully cut and expertly sewn, in all probability an exclusive model, and it revealed a figure so gorgeous even the severest critic could have not faulted it. Could this be the Scandinavian girl Ilse that Judy had mentioned yesterday? Jenny couldn't help noticing that her partner moved with an ease that bespoke physical fitness, and there was something—everything that was dangerous about him. She remembered the slip of paper with his name powerfully scrawled across it—Z. Benedict. Z? There wasn't one ordinary name that she could think of beginning with the last letter of the alphabet.

  Jim Bickerton proved to be an openly friendly companion, easy to converse with, and Jenny felt slightly guilty that she must be rather dull company. To compensate she found herself agreeing to attend a party with him the following evening—then contrarily wished she hadn't, for he was too nice a young man to encourage idly.

  Wednesday morning proved surprising in more ways than one. Grant Ogilvie was out of town for the day and had neglected to leave Jenny the dictaphone. Bryce Shaw was in court and not expected back until late afternoon, and the other girls had no extra typing they could hand over for Jenny to occupy her time. Suzy was the only one who seemingly needed assistance, and Jenny looked at the large cane basket overflowing with files ready to be put away with a hint of exasperation. How the mighty are fallen—from secretary to filing clerk in the space of a few short minutes!

  Jenny toiled diligently, stepping up and down the portable steps many; times, moving them around the inner room shelved from floor to ceiling. She didn't hear the door open until its hinges squeaked a little, and thinking it could only be Suzy summoning her to morning tea she merely climbed a step higher and pushed a file into place on the top shelf.

  'I'll only be a moment. Pour it out, Suzy, there's a dear,' Jenny smiled, then she asked the question that had been bothering her vaguely since the previous evening. 'By the way—that insufferable man Benedict. What does the "Z" in his name stand for?'

  There was a brief moment of silence, then she froze as the dry unmistakable tones of the man himself came from behind her.

  'Zachary, Jenny Meredith. Zachary Lucien Benedict.'

  Jenny swallowed nervously, wishing fervently that the floor would open up and allow her
to disappear. 'Oh,' she muttered indistinctly. 'Did you want to see me?' she asked hesitantly a few minutes later when he had not offered any explanation for his unannounced appearance within the confines of the firm's filing room.

  'I'd prefer to conduct this conversation face to face, if it wouldn't be too much to ask—attractive as your rear view undoubtedly presents itself,' Mr. Benedict finished mockingly.

  'Oh, you're the most—' Jenny burst out angrily, turning too swiftly from her precarious position on the upper step and was unable to prevent herself from overbalancing. He caught her easily and she struggled desperately to free herself from the hard steadying strength of his arms, her eyes bright with suppressed fury as she stood facing him.

  'Do go on, Jenny-wren,' he drawled softly, a dangerous glint apparent in those dark eyes several inches above her own.

  'Don't call me that!' Jenny hissed angrily, infuriated that he had so lightly used the pet name her family endearingly used upon occasion. With concentrated effort she sought to control her heightened colour and quickened breathing, hastily smoothing down her skirt and straightening her short-sleeved skinny-rib knit jumper. With a semblance of docility she clasped her shaking hands together behind her back and enquired politely, 'You wanted to see me, Mr. Benedict?'

  A flicker of impatience crossed his broad-boned features momentarily. 'You surmise correctly, Miss Meredith,' he intoned dryly. 'You neglected yesterday to write down the name of your insurance company.'

  Jenny blinked rapidly at the formality, and felt sure he was deliberately putting her in her place—he was successful too, she grimaced inwardly. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she managed quietly, meeting his eyes. 'It's the State Insurance. Do you need the policy number?'

  Mr. Benedict regarded her with studied ease for seemingly timeless seconds and Jenny could not have dragged her eyes away from his if her life had depended upon it. His eyes held a thoughtful expression and when he spoke there was the hint of a smile in his voice.

  'Thank you, but no. I shan't detain you any longer,' he said equably, reaching for the door handle.

  Jenny watched his broad back disappear through the doorway and wondered idly why he had chosen to enquire personally instead of using the telephone. The memory of his arms around her for those few brief seconds shook her equilibrium more than she wanted to admit. Undoubtedly he possessed a potent magnetism—dangerous, she mused silently. Definitely dangerous. To get involved with any man was the last thing she wanted— much less Zachary Lucien Benedict. She must be out of her mind! Zachary Benedict! The ultimate outcome of an allegiance with such a man was as clear to her as a whirring cinematographic film. He would wine and dine a girl, charm her with flattery, seduce her with practised ease—and then move on to fresh fields. Well, she wouldn't fall into that trap! It helped considerably to reassure herself that it was highly unlikely she would set eyes on Zachary Benedict very often—except perhaps in the elevator or the entrance lobby downstairs. He moved in a vastly different social circle from that of her own, and the chances of meeting him outside office hours were very remote.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jenny spent her lunch-hour shopping, and returned to the office well pleased. Nestled between layers of tissue-paper inside the capacious cardboard box was an absolute dream of a dress—full length of cream indian muslin, it had crochet-lace insertions in a square design over the bodice and several inches above the hemline the pattern was repeated around the entire width of the skirt. The neckline was cut deeply square and revealed slightly more of her bosom than Jenny would have wished,- and the sleeves were wrist-length, gathered in at the elbows with several crochet-lace insertions spaced equally down the sleeves. With her honey-gold skin and vibrant golden-brown hair that held the merest gleam of auburn it was a perfect choice, and Jenny looked forward to wearing it this evening.

  There was time to shower and set her hair, and to apply her make-up with special care. Jim wasn't calling for her until eight-thirty, and for some reason Jenny felt slightly nervous and ill at ease. It would be the first time she had gone out alone with another man since Max had jilted her—and strangely that seemed so long ago. But it wasn't long at all—in fact it was five weeks to the very day, and it didn't hurt as much as it should have done. Jenny supposed philosophically that that should prove something!

  Jim rang the bell at her door a few minutes before she expected him, and he expelled a low expressive whistle of appreciation at her appearance.

  'You look beautiful!' he exclaimed simply. 'There won't be one red-blooded male present at the party who won't want to elbow me out of the way in an attempt to claim you.'

  Jenny chuckled lightheartedly as she collected her evening bag and closed the door of the flat behind them. 'Thank you for those kind words, dear sir! But I'll have you know I'm the loyal type—for better or worse you're stuck with me for the evening.'

  Jim's smile was expressively delightful. 'The pleasure is all mine—believe me!'

  They were travelling towards Howick, a suburb only a few miles south-east from Jenny's flat at Bucklands Beach. Jim had told her the previous evening that a friend of his—a fellow doctor—was soon to be married and had recently bought a home, and was intent upon giving a housewarming party before the wedding.

  Some home, Jenny admired approvingly as they stepped inside the downstairs entrance and made their way through to a huge lounge. It was built on the lines of a mansion, and was lavishly furnished—what Jenny could see, for it was difficult as the lights were dimmed and plunged the lounge into semi-darkness. The noise from the stereo' speakers was pleasantly loud and there seemed to be people everywhere. Somehow Jim managed to locate their hosts and performed the necessary introductions.

  It was all of fifteen minutes before Jenny felt relatively at ease, helped no doubt by one and a half glasses of alcoholic beverage to the ingredients of which she was loath to put a name. Defying description, it Certainly packed a punch whatever it was, she mused thoughtfully. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to shapes in the dimly lit room, and there was something disturbingly familiar about the tall figure several yards away— the broad-set shoulders, the back of his head. At that instant he turned slightly and his profile was clearly discernible.

  Oh, heavens above! Jenny felt the breath catch in her throat and the tension inside her began to mount overwhelmingly. Darnation! She valiantly tried to mask her inner turmoil with animated inconsequential chatter, aware that Jim was taken aback at the sudden change in her manner.

  'What's going on, Jenny? You look as if you've seen a ghost,' he remarked carelessly, noticing the brightness of her eyes and the nervous fluttering of her hands.

  Jenny managed a light laugh and eyed him covertly. 'What makes you think that? If anything, this indescribable concoction seems to be going straight to my head,? she remarked gaily. This would never do, Jenny chastised herself sternly. What if Zachary Benedict is here ? It was most unlikely that he had come alone, and in any case she had made up her mind that she wanted nothing more to do with him. He was by far too dynamically masculine for any girl's peace of mind—especially mine, a small voice inside her prompted. Bother the man!

  'In that case, you'd better slow down and munch some potato crisps or pretzels,' Jim suggested dryly, reaching down to a nearby coffee table for a bowl of each and offering them to her.

  Jenny pulled a slight face at him and obediently plucked a few crisps from the half-empty wooden bowl. 'Your medical degree is showing, Doctor,' she teased lightly as she bit into an over-large crisp.

  'Would you prefer it if it didn't?' he quipped non-chalantly.

  Jenny shook her head, her expression sobering. 'Not really. You're a nice young man, Jim Bickerton,' she added kindly, and smiled at him, her lips curving generously.

  'And you regard me as you would your own brother,'

  Jim remarked wryly, but there was the hint of a twinkle in the depths of his blue eyes.

  'If I had a brother, he couldn't be nicer than you,' Jenny complimented serio
usly as she sipped her drink and delved an idle hand into the bowl of crisps.

  At that moment their host attracted Jim's attention and invited him upstairs to inspect one of the rooms he had had set up as a laboratory.

  'You don't mind, Jenny?' Jim queried solicitously. 'I won't be away for very long—ten minutes at the most.'

  Jenny smiled good-naturedly, her eyes alight with humour. 'I wouldn't have the heart to say yes,' she grinned at the two men, watching as they turned and made their way from the room. Despite her cheerful assurance Jenny felt very much alone and vulnerable in that large room filled to capacity with mingling guests. She was acutely aware of Zachary Benedict's compelling presence only yards away—which was silly, for he probably hadn't noticed her at all! In any case, she had given him little encouragement with which to seek her company—her memory vividly recalled their conversation earlier in the day. Vexedly she sipped the last of the remaining liquid in her glass. She should never have come tonight—an evening spent watching television would have been infinitely more relaxing! Idly she allowed her gaze to rove slowly about the room, and her eyes widened fractionally as they came to rest on Zachary Benedict. Her quickened pulse and the warm rush of colour to her cheeks was galling as she observed him disengage himself from the group with whom he had been conversing and begin weaving his way towards her. It-was too late to turn and run—besides, where would she run to? She was scarcely a child, and surely she could handle the situation with maturity.