'Can I-?' Kate tried to think. 'I-journalists usually have press cards, don't they?' She fumbled to get her handbag out of the drawer beside her. 'You can look through my personal belongings, if you like.'

Too late, she remembered her investigator' slicence tucked inside her wallet, but she needn't have worried. 'I don't imagine you'd carry such an incriminating thing around with you,'

Kellerman said, dismissing her offer. His expression softened somewhat, nevertheless. 'Do you swear you're not working for any publication, tabloid or otherwise?'

'Yes.' There was conviction in her voice.

'No freelance a.s.signments? No docu-dramas for television?'

'No.' But despite the relief her knees were trembling. 'Do you believe me? I've never worked for the media.'

He studied her flushed face for what seemed like for ever, and then gave what she hoped was a gesture of a.s.sent. 'Okay,' he said at last. 'Okay, I believe you. But if I find out you've been lying...'

He didn't bother to finish the threat, but Kate knew what he meant. There'd be no second chances if he found her out. 'I think you've made your feelings very plain, Mr Kellerman,' she declared stiffly, her nails digging into her palms.

She was grateful that he seemed to accept that as a dismissal, and when he moved towards the door she sank down into her chair again and expelled an exhausted breath. But that didn't stop her from wishing she could just hand in her notice and leave while she still had all her faculties.

She was very much afraid that Alex Kellerman was far more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.

CHAPTER FOUR.

ALEXshoved the weights to their fullest extent for the final time and then lay panting, trying to get his breath back. h.e.l.l, he was out of condition, he thought disgustedly. Okay, he'd been pushing himself hard for the last couple of hours, but lifting the bar that last time had almost finished him off. He'd been spending too many nights with a bottle instead of with a woman, he reflected wryly. If there was one thing to say for s.e.x it was that it didn't make you fat.

He heaved a sigh and got up from the bench-press, flexing his shoulders as he did so. What he needed was a shower, that was all, he a.s.sured himself. He'd feel a d.a.m.n sight better when he got out of this sweaty gear. Then, when he was sure he'd eliminated all his frustration, he'd go and pick up Rachel. These additional visits were one concession his recent visit to court had granted him, and he had no intention of doing anything to blow the privilege now.

Even if the thought of going to the Wyatts' house to collect her still bugged him. He'd have much preferred it if his solicitor could have arranged for him to meet his daughter at a neutral point. But it was probably better for Rachel not to have to deal with too many strangers, he conceded. The muscles in his stomach tightened at the thought of losing her for good.

As he left the gym, which was in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the house, and mounted the stairs to the first floor, he found himself thinking of Kate Hughes. He was slightly ashamed of the way he had treated her the previous day. He was well aware that he had intimidated the woman for no good reason. He had had no grounds for accusing her of being anything more-or less-than she claimed. Would she understand the pressure he was under if he told her about Rachel? She'd said she didn't believe he was a murderer, but that was before he'd practically accused her of working for the gutter press.

He reached his bedroom and crossed the floor to his bathroom, shedding his vest and shorts on the way. Then, kicking off his trainers, he stepped into the shower cubicle, running the water hot at first to sluice all the stickiness from his skin.

As he soaped his shoulders, he considered why he'd suddenly thought of Kate Hughes. Was it because of the way he'd behaved with her that had persuaded him to work out before going to Wyvern Hall? Perhaps he was afraid he'd let Conrad Wyatt arouse his anger. If he went there filled with resentment he'd be playing right into his father-in-law's hands.

Perhaps he should be grateful to the Hughes woman, he thought, returning to the bedroom. As he towelled his hair dry, he wondered what she thought of him now. He supposed he owed her an apology for coming on so strong, and he hoped he hadn't upset her. Guthrie wouldn't be very pleased if his protegee decided to take a hike.

He blew out a weary breath, looking round the room without pleasure. This was one of the smaller bedrooms. He'd moved out of the master suite when Pamela died. It needed some redecoration, but these days he had no enthusiasm for anything. If-when-he got Rachel back again, things would be different, he a.s.sured himself. He'd begin to feel that this was a real home again.

The Wyatts' estate was situated on the other side of King's Montford. Conrad Wyatt's family had farmed the land for over a hundred years, and although the old man himself no longer took an active part in running the estate he had a very efficient manager to do the job for him.

Alex had always known that Conrad regretted the fact that his wife had been unable to have any more children after Pamela was born, and when Pamela herself was expecting Rachel her father had hoped she would have a boy. At that time, though, it hadn't seemed important. Alex had a.s.sumed he and Pamela would eventually have a son. He hadn't known then that Pamela was going to be unfaithful, or that the second child she carried wouldn't be his.

It was impossible not to feel some emotion, Alex thought as he drove through the gates of Wyvern Hall. He might not have loved his wife when she died, but that didn't alter the fact that this was where she'd been born. Where he'd come to visit, when he and Pamela had first got to know one another; and where her father had voiced the suggestion that when he died they should move into the house.

He'd even asked Alex to consider changing his name to Wyatt. Alex's own father was dead, so he hadn't seen anything wrong in that. But Alex had. The Kellermans might not have such ill.u.s.trious forebears, but under his direction the Kellerman stables were beginning to make an enviable name for themselves. There was no way Alex was going to deprive his heir of his real heritage, and his relationship with Conrad Wyatt had deteriorated from then on.

Even so, Alex had always tried to be civil to the man. He'd had no quarrel with Pamela's father, and he'd always hoped that some day they could really be friends. But then Pamela was killed, and Conrad had accused his son-in-law of contriving the 'accident.' Even Pamela's mother, who had remained neutral throughout most of their marriage, had been forced to take her husband's side.

There was little wonder, Alex reflected now, that he'd been shattered. His whole world had been falling apart, and the only solace he'd found was when he was too drunk to know what was going on. Rachel had been too young, too vulnerable, to offer him any comfort. Little wonder that her grandfather had found it so easy to convince the authorities that he and his wife should look after her until her father was capable of doing so.

Alex's hands tightened on the wheel at the unwelcome memory. But he knew it wouldn't do to go and meet Conrad Wyatt in a hostile frame of mind. He had to convince the Wyatts he meant to regain custody of his daughter; that he was the fit and proper person to bring her up.

And he was, he told himself fiercely. Any bitterness he had left was all directed towards himself.

He'd been a fool, but he'd learned his lesson the hard way. If he got Rachel back, he'd never act so stupidly again.

Julia Wyatt opened the door to him herself. Alex, who had been expecting to encounter the dour housekeeper, Mrs Gellis, felt an immediate sense of apprehension. Although Pamela's mother had always been less antagonistic than her husband, she was not in the habit of answering doors; not when she had a perfectly good member of staff to do it for her.

'Oh-Alex,' she said, almost as if she hadn't expected it to be him. She must have heard the car, he thought. Her sitting room was at the front of the house. 'I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. Um-Rachel isn't very well.'

Alex pushed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. It was a cold day and he had worn the long cashmere garment because he'd intended to take Rachel to the park. He'd planned that they would feed the ducks, and then go back to Jamaica Hill for lunch. In the afternoon, he'd been going to take her down to the stables. One of the mares had foaled and he was sure she'd love to see the spindly-legged colt.

But now...

'She's ill?' he asked, aware that his tone was brusque, but he couldn't help it. Of all the stunts he'd expected Conrad Wyatt to pull, he'd never antic.i.p.ated anything like this.

'She's not ill exactly,' demurred Julia, glancing somewhat nervously over her shoulder. 'She's got a nasty little cold, and I don't think she should go out on a day like this.'

'You don't think?' asked Alex harshly. He was fairly sure this was all her husband's idea. But it was a damp, cold morning, and he took a breath to calm himself. Then, putting a booted foot on the step, he asked, 'May I see her?'

'Oh, I'm not sure-' began Julia, and then broke off abruptly when her husband's voice sounded behind her.

'Who is it, Julia?' he was demanding. 'It's far too cold to be standing at the door.' Then he saw Alex, and his expression hardened contemptuously. 'Oh, it's you.' He turned to his wife. 'Haven't you told him that Rachel can't go out today?'

'Well, yes-'

'She's told me, Conrad,' broke in Alex levelly, aware that his behaviour now was crucial. 'I was saying that I'd like to see her anyway.'

'You can't.' Conrad Wyatt didn't mince his words. 'She's-ah-she's sleeping. Isn't that right, Julia?' He exchanged a look with his wife, and Alex wondered what else was said in that silent stare. He turned back to his son-in-law, his eyes mirroring his triumph. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, Kellerman, but there it is.'

Alex's hands curled into fists in his pockets. He would have liked nothing better than to stuff one of them down Conrad Wyatt's throat. The man was actually enjoying this, and no wonder. It would be another week before Alex could arrange to see Rachel again.

But Alex knew better than to argue with him. Conrad would like nothing better than to be able to tell a judge that he'd been threatened by his son-in-law. It would also add weight to what Conrad had always maintained about the accident: that Alex was violent and untrustworthy, and no fit guardian for the child.

'So am I,' Alex said now. 'Sorry, I mean.' He addressed himself to Julia. 'Will you let me know how she is tomorrow?'

'Oh-yes.' Julia glanced at her husband for his approval, before going on. 'But I'm afraid-'

'I know.' Alex was sardonic. 'I won't be able to visit her tomorrow. Just give her my love, will you? I'm sure I can trust you to do that.'

'Are you implying-?' began Conrad angrily, but Alex was already walking back to the Range Rover. Pretending he didn't hear, he opened the door and coiled his considerable length behind the wheel. Raising one hand in farewell, he started the powerful engine, deliberately churning up the gravel as he gunned the motor down the drive.

But once he was out on the King's Montford road again his spurt of defiance vanished. In spite of all his efforts, he was no further forward than before. And the knowledge that he wasn't going to spend the day with his daughter was like a burning pain inside him. At times like these, he wanted to cry like a baby for the way he'd screwed up his life.

But there was no point in letting Conrad Wyatt's att.i.tude get to him, and he decided to drive to the Wayside and make his peace with Lacey instead. He had spoken to her in the last couple of days and she'd seemed more amenable. But that was on the phone. Who knew how she'd react if he turned up in person?

He decided to swing by Jamaica Hill first. He'd told his housekeeper he'd be in for lunch and she was making her special chocolate pudding just for Rachel. He knew Agnes Muir would be disappointed that the little girl wasn't joining them, just as he was. The elderly Scotswoman had supported him throughout all his dealings with the Wyatts.

He turned in at the gates and then had to brake hard to avoid a loitering teenager. The girl was hanging about inside the gates, apparently undecided as to whether to walk up to the house or turn off towards the stable block. She was fairly tall and slim, dressed in a short pleated skirt and a parka. He was sure he didn't know her, yet there was something strangely familiar about her startled face.

He rolled down his window. 'Can I help you?' he asked shortly. He wasn't really in the mood to talk to some strange schoolgirl, who was probably here to ask about a job. He and Guthrie got them all the time: girls who were horse-mad and wanted nothing more than to brush the animals'

coats or muck out the stalls in their spare time. Most of them couldn't afford the cost of riding lessons, and working with the horses meant they sometimes got lucky and had the chance to hack around the paddock.

The girl looped her haversack over her shoulder and looked at him doubtfully. 'I-er-I was looking for my mum,' she said awkwardly. 'She-er-she works here. Her name's Kate. Kate-'

'Kate Hughes?' asked Alex, and the girl coloured guiltily.

'Yes. Kate Hughes,' she agreed hurriedly, and he guessed her mother had told her not to come here.

'You're her daughter?' Alex was surprised. Not because Kate wasn't a good-looking woman, but because he hadn't known she was married. If indeed she was. And it also explained that unfamiliar resemblance. He shook his head. 'If you get in the car, I'll take you down to the yard.'

'Oh, I don't-'

'I'm Alex Kellerman,' he informed her flatly. 'I'm sure your mother's warned you not to get into cars with strange men, but I happen to own this place.'

'I know.' Her eyes widened then, as if she was afraid she shouldn't have made such an admission.

'Well-' She hesitated. 'If you don't mind, that would be cool.'

Cool!

Alex grimaced and thrust open the door nearest to her. 'Get in,' he advised her tersely, and she swiftly swung her long legs over the seat. 'Shouldn't you be in school?' he asked as she slammed the door, and she gave him a rueful grimace.

'That's what Mum's going to say, I know, but I'm not going back.' She pursed her lips. 'Not today anyway.'

Alex frowned, not altogether unhappy at the diversion. 'Is something wrong?' he asked.

'Couldn't whatever it is have waited until tonight?'

'Mum's going to say that, too.' She gave him another doubtful look. 'She's really hot on getting a good education and all that.' She hunched her shoulders. 'But sometimes it's not as easy as she thinks.'

Alex put the car into gear. 'You're having problems,' he remarked dryly. 'Convincing people you're telling the truth can be pretty tough. I know.'

'Is'pose you do.' She glanced sideways at him. Then her colour deepened again. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I don't really know anything about you.'

'That hasn't stopped plenty of other people from pa.s.sing their opinion,' responded Alex, with some irony. And then he smiled. It was refreshing to meet someone who admitted to having preconceived ideas. 'So, as I'm such an authority, why don't you tell me what's troubling you?'

He examined her face critically. 'I guess you go to the comprehensive in town.'

'Lady Montford,' she agreed, with a nod. 'I've been going there for over a year.'

'And you're finding the work too hard, is that it?' asked Alex gently, only to have her fix him with an indignant look.

'No!' she exclaimed. 'I don't find the work hard. Well, not especially. I'm not brilliant at maths, but I'm pretty good at everything else.' She sniffed. 'That's part of the trouble,' she muttered in an undertone, stiffening as she saw the roof of the stables through the trees.

Alex wished the journey had been longer. He had enjoyed talking to her, and he was loath to let her go without finding out what was wrong. 'So what's the problem-er-you didn't tell me your name?'

'Joanne.'

'-Okay, Joanne.' A thought occurred to him. 'You're not being bullied because they think you're a swot?'

'A what?'

She turned to gazeat him, and he realised they probably had other names for it these days.

'Because you're prepared to learn and they're not,' he explained, feeling very old suddenly.

'Oh, you mean a nerd.' She grimaced. 'No.'

Alex pulled a wry face, but they'd already reached the stable yard and he switched off the engine.

'Whatever it is, I'm sure if you discuss it with your mother she'll understand.'

'You think?' Joanne pulled a face. 'You don't know Mum like I do. She doesn't seem to understand how hard it is to stay friends with girls who think you're just a wimp.' She sighed.

'Have you ever done something you know was wrong and regretted it later, Mr Kellerman? Like, you want to put it behind you, but some people won't let you forget?'

Alex's brows drew together. What was this? he wondered. Some new way Conrad Wyatt had devised to disarm him and induce him to confess? He shook his head. No, that was crazy. This was Kate Hughes's daughter. He thought even Conrad would draw the line at using a child to do his dirty work.

'Look,' he said evenly, 'everyone does something they regret sometimes.' He grimaced. 'In my case, it was getting married to the wrong woman, but we won't go into that.' He paused. 'What can you have done that's so outrageous? You're-what? Thirteen? Fourteen?'

'I'm twelve.'

'There you are then. You're twelve-' he grinned at her haughty expression '-going on twenty.

What can you have done to warrant that long face?'

'You don't have to be old to break the law,' Joanne retorted, gazing at him defensively. 'Oh, G.o.d, Mum's going to kill me when she finds out.'

Alex blinked. She was so serious. Whatever she'd done, she obviously believed it would cause her mother some grief. So, what? Missing lessons? Mouthing off at her teacher?

Taking drugs?

As she gathered her haversack to her chest, preparing to get out, he felt an unexpected twinge of alarm.

'You're not-' he began as she reached for the door handle, and then stopped himself before he could go on. This was crazy, he thought. He'd just met her. This girl meant absolutely nothing to him.

'I'm not what?' she asked, a small ladder in her tights delineating the bony curve of her knee.

There was something fragile about that ladder; it made her look vulnerable. And, although he'd determined not to say any more, he couldn't help it.