‘I’m fine,’ she said, thoroughly embarrassed at causing an accident, knowing that her mind had not been where it ought to have been. ‘Is your car very badly damaged?’
‘Oh don’t give that a second thought. It’s not mine; it’s a staff car and tough as old boots. I’m afraid your beautiful Bentley has come off worse. I tried to avoid colliding with you, but you came straight at me. You must have skidded on the ice. Come on, let’s get you out before the car slides any further down the bank and you vanish without trace into the depths of the snowstorm. I’ve never seen a blizzard quite like this before. There you go, take my arm. That’s it, I’ve got you.’
‘There’s really no need,’ she replied, vexed that he was treating her like a child. ‘As I said, I’m perfectly all right.’ No sooner were the words out than a gust of wind blew what felt like an entire snowdrift into her face, and she missed her footing and all but tumbled into the stranger’s arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, her tone anything but apologetic, almost as if she held him responsible for her predicament.
‘Best hang on to me,’ he asserted. ‘Don’t want you coming to any more grief. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll see a doctor pronto; you’ve given your noggin quite a bash.’
Mention of a doctor made Romily remember the reason for her being in the car in the first place. Allegra! She had been on her way to fetch the girl back to Island House. She turned to look at the Bentley, to see if it would be possible to drive it to Winter Cottage, but she could see from the precarious angle it rested at that it was going to take some help to get it going again. She peered through the blizzard to where the stranger’s vehicle stood. ‘Do you think you could give me a tow?’ she shouted above the blast of another gust of wind. ‘Only I need to be somewhere.’
The man brushed at the snow that was settling on his face, particularly his eyebrows and moustache. ‘I’d advise you to go straight home,’ he said, ‘via a doctor. I’d be happy to drive you. Really, if we stand here a second longer arguing, we’ll both end up dead from the cold.’ He took her by the arm, his grip sufficiently firm to dissuade her from resisting. ‘Hop in,’ he said, ‘and I’ll take you where you need to be, if you’re sure that’s what you should do.’
‘It is,’ she said.
Once they were out of the howling wind and snow, and he’d turned the key in the ignition, he introduced himself. ‘Anthony, known to my friends as Tony. Once I’ve turned us around to head in the direction you were going, you’ll need to give me further instructions.’
‘How well do you know the roads around here?’ she asked.
‘Not very well; I only arrived a few days ago. I’m based at the airfield over at Larkshall. Do you know it?’
‘Of course. We’re all very well acquainted with the squadrons of Wellington bombers flying over us. You’ll need to take the next right.’
He dropped a gear and took the turning slowly. ‘And am I going to have the pleasure of knowing your name?’
‘Romily,’ she said. ‘Romily Devereux-Temple.’
‘And is there a Mr Devereux-Temple?’
She paused, taken aback at the directness of his question. ‘No,’ she said at length, and with no wish to elaborate further to a stranger. Even a stranger who had come to her rescue. ‘Next left,’ she said, ‘then follow the road. Winter Cottage is on the right, look out for a green gate.’
‘Which will probably be completely white now, if not buried deep beneath a snowdrift,’ he said with a crunch of gears before finding the right one. ‘Sorry I can’t provide you with a smoother drive. This car might be as tough as old boots, but it’s also a frightful old crock. You’d think we’d have better staff cars available to us, wouldn’t you?’
‘Would I be right in thinking you’re a pilot?’ she asked, although she knew that he could not be anything else. She had met enough RAF pilots over the years to recognise one a mile off – without exception they were all extremely charming, with a jovial bravado that came with the uniform.
‘Guilty as charged,’ he said. ‘Wing Commander Tony Abbott, to be exact. By the way, sorry if I offended you in some way with my frankness; I’m always being told I’m overly familiar. Especially around women. Comes from growing up with an immensely bossy older sister and two bossier-still aunts. And that’s another character trait of mine, I talk far too much.’
He looked too young to be a commanding officer, she thought, far too young. When she didn’t say anything, he turned to look at her. ‘I’ve annoyed you, haven’t I? I’m sorry for that.’
‘Eyes on the road, please. One accident in a day is quite enough for me.’
He laughed. ‘Now how on earth am I going to get you to like me, I wonder?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Well, it would be a great disappointment on my part if you didn’t. Any particular reason why we can’t be friends?’
Off the top of her head she could think of any number of reasons. ‘What makes you think you’d like to be friends with me?’ she said.
‘Because’– he gave her a quick sideways glance – ‘I’d rather have you on my side than against me. I think you’d make a formidable adversary.
Something about the way he looked at her and the tone of his voice made her laugh unexpectedly. It made her realise also that she had thus far behaved appallingly. She blamed it on her bruised ego, that she of all people had caused an accident.
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Now I feel on much firmer ground with you, and almost glad you ran into me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been shockingly rude to you and you’ve gone to all this trouble on my behalf.’
‘No trouble at all. Least anyone would do in the circumstances.’
‘You’re very kind, and I don’t deserve for you to say yes, but I wonder if I could ask another favour of you. You see, I was on my way to collect someone and take her home with me. She’s expecting a baby in a couple of months and so there’s no way we can trudge through the snow to—’
