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Her teeth ached from the strain of stopping herself from telling him that he was wrong and that she and David weren't lovers. But he was right about one thing: she did have too much pride—far too much to make any explanations to any man—and especially to him.
'Ah, there you are, Nicky darling. My godmother is ready to leave. You must stay and dine with us. I'm simply fascinated by what you're planning to do here, although really you're wasted in a small place like this. You should be practising in Harley Street.'
Chattering animatedly, Amanda led him away. Despite her fur jacket she was feeling intensely cold—too cold, Christy thought, shivering with a mixture of shock and outrage. Her fur embraced her body like a shroud—like a prison!—condemning her, and suddenly she felt as though she loathed it.
In point of fact Dominic had been wrong about one thing. Meryl had chosen the colour, not David. He had told her later that he had wanted to buy her a lynx dyed jacket, all white with spots of gold, but Meryl had protested that with her vivid colouring Christy should have the red.
Tiredly she followed the others outside. The temperature seemed to have dropped even further, and already it was dark. She unlocked the car door and slid inside starting the engine. Dominic's car had already gone.
She drove home slowly, wound up with a nervous tension that affected her ability to give all her attention to what she was doing. She turned into the lane and sighed with relief, only to feel the breath lock in her throat as the car wheel spun savagely out of control and, as though it had been wrenched from her hands by an unseen grip, the steering wheel seemed to develop a mind of its own and the car careered off the road and plunged down into a ditch.
It took her several minutes to realise what had happened, and then what seemed like another lifetime to struggle with the seat belt in a vain attempt to free herself. Horrible images of cars bursting into flames tormented her mind, and then, shockingly, the door was wrenched open and hard hands were reaching for her, unlocking the tangled seat belt and dragging her out of the car.
She looked up at her rescuer hazily, unable to differentiate between hallucinations and reality, his name leaving her lips on a husky whisper.
'Dominic, what…?'
'Don't try to talk, not just now.' His hands moved expertly over her body, clinically exact in their movements, and only when he had assured himself that nothing was damaged did some of his tension seem to relax.
'The car skidded… I…'
'I know what happened.' His voice sounded terse. 'I was right behind you. My God… You haven't broken anything, at least. Did you hit your head at all?'
'No… No, I don't think so.'
'I'll take you back to my place, and check you over properly…'
'No, I want to go home,'
'Looking like that?' His voice was scathing. 'What do you think it's going to do to your mother if you walk in looking the way you do right now?'
She glanced down at herself in bewilderment and then lifted her eyes to meet his.
'Don't argue with me, Christy.'
'But the car…'
'I'll arrange for the garage to come and collect it. Now come on, let's get out of this damned wind.'
She made to walk, her breathing suspended as he swore under his breath and lunged forward, picking her up as easily as though she weighed next to nothing.
'Dominic…'
'Save it,' he advised her tersely.
His car was parked only yards away from her own, slewed across the road as though he had stopped abruptly. He opened the rear door and bundled her on to the back seat. She looked over his shoulder and saw that it had begun to snow.
'It's snowing.' Her mind seemed to be clogged with cotton wool, making it impossible for her to do more than utter the merest banalities.
'So it is.'
She could understand why he sounded so sarcastic, but that didn't stop the tears burning against the back of her throat. She was suffering from shock, she told herself, but the information didn't seem to penetrate past the barrier of pain lodged round her heart, and she shrank back from him as he leaned over her, much as she might have shrunk from a would-be attacker.
She heard him swear again and then the car door slammed.
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to burst into tears. The driver's door opened, the car rocking slightly as he got in. The engine purred into life, and she felt herself tensing as Dominic slipped it into gear. He was a far more able driver than she was herself, she acknowledged as the big car moved steadily over the icy lane.
She saw her father's car parked outside the house as they drove past, but Dominic made no attempt to stop and she felt too weak to protest. She could hear the gravel drive to the Vicarage crunching beneath the car wheels as they drove up it, and then the car stopped. She sat up and reached for the door handle.
