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Her
back arched, her bare heels dug convulsively into the ground, and her head fell back against the grass as she trembled in the violent aftermath of climax. Lorcan watched her with a tenderness and rage and puzzlement that she was too oblivious to notice. And then, just when she thought it was all over, it began again.

*          *          *

Back at Rainbow House, James got a telephone call from George Makin, an old friend of his from college days, who was now the senior partner of a large firm of solicitors.

‘So,' George said, after they'd caught up. ‘Who's the big villain you're working for now?'

‘Big villain? Around here? You must be joking,' James laughed.

‘Oh.' George, a big, amiable man, sounded suddenly uncomfortable. ‘But I thought . . .' There was a long silence, and then, ‘I say, James, old chap—you haven't by any chance been doing anything . . . odd . . . with that collection of paintings of yours?'

James bolted upright in his chair. ‘No!' He cleared his throat. ‘No, why do you ask?'

Now George's embarrassment was palpable, even over the telephone. ‘Oh, nothing much. It's just . . . a clerk over at the Fletcher Chambers told me . . . well, that someone in the Art Fraud Squad had been nosing around.
Something
about ongoing investigation in Oxford. Your name was mentioned. Naturally, I thought . . . well, that you were acting for some dodgy dealer or something.'

James Delacroix licked lips gone suddenly dry. ‘No, can't say I know anything about it. But there's nothing wrong here, I can assure you.'

‘I can't tell you how glad I am to hear to it,' his old friend laughed. They chatted about a class reunion for a while, and then hung up, George cheerfully, James looking worried.

For a long while he sat and stared at the carpet in front of him. Nobody could know that he'd asked Freddy to copy the Forbes-Wright for him, could they? So what interest could the Art Fraud Squad have in them, for pity's sake! It wasn't as if Rainbow House ever sold paintings, they only bought them.

No, they were all right, him and Freddy. They must be. Weren't they?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The small gaggle of interested actors approached the set of massive gates and stepped through the entrance to St Bede's, finding themselves in a small, flagstoned quad.

‘Wow, I feel like I've just stepped into a church or something,' Julie whispered in awe,
looking
round at the mellow ivy-covered walls and rows of large sash windows.

On their left was indeed a large building with a beautiful round stained-glass window. A student, slouched against a wall, suddenly came to life. ‘Hello. Are you the people who are doing the murder mystery weekend?' he asked jovially.

‘That's us, dear heart,' Norman Rix couldn't help teasing.

‘Er . . . right. The Principal asked me to show you around the good ol' Venerable. It's what everyone calls us.'

The entire cast made a mental note of his comment.

‘Right, well this is the lodge, as you can see, where we pick up our mail. Oh, I'm Barry, by the way. At the moment, we're standing in St Agatha's, or St Agnes', Quad, depending on which Classics professor you talk to. Over there is the chapel, of course. Built in the Middle Ages.'

‘Can we go inside?' Annis asked, thinking of the Sunday morning scene, when she had to make a fuss about sitting in a pew far away from the radiators.

‘Of course. It's always open,' Barry said, and led the way inside, the cast shivering in the sudden coldness. But the high-beamed ceiling was magnificent, and Annis began to fully appreciate how much this magnificent backdrop would help ‘the play'.

Reeve
watched Annis pick up a hymnal, and wondered if she'd been disappointed to get three uninterrupted nights' sleep. It had been sheer murder for him to lie there, night after night, knowing she was just a door away. But he'd managed it. He was going to force her to make the first move even if it killed him. And from the way his body ached whenever he was near her, it probably would!

‘In front of us is Webster,' Barry said. ‘We have three houses, all named after literary figures. Fellows that live-in have rooms scattered throughout the college.'

‘Interesting,' Reeve murmured, and Annis shot him a fulminating look. The rat. She'd been living at Squitchey Lane for three days now. Why hadn't he come to her room?

Perhaps she wasn't good enough for him. Wasn't famous enough. Didn't have enough power to help his career along. Perhaps struggling actresses didn't appeal to him . . . ?

She turned away from him sharply and Reeve would have smiled, if he hadn't noticed the gleam of pain in her eyes. He felt his heart lurch. Dammit, what was wrong now?

‘This is the Dining Hall. We refer to it simply as Hall.'

All the cast looked with interest at the newest of the college's buildings. ‘Most of our best scenes take place in there,' Julie said. ‘Can we have a look?'

Hall was simply breathtaking. As soon as
they
stepped into it, looking around at the long tables, the rows of tall windows, the imposing portraits of past Principals, and the High Table raised on a small dais, with the impressively carved and velvet-backed Principal's Chair, they got a real sense of ‘theatre'.

‘I can just see them, dressed in ruffs and silks, in Queen Elizabeth the First's day,' John said.

‘That's a good painting,' Reeve murmured, moving to a large, gilt-framed portrait hanging between two big windows. ‘Who is it?' He pointed at the bewigged, imposing-looking man.

‘That's Principal Alfred Gore, painted by William Hogarth,' Barry offered.

‘The murder scenes will really go down well in here,' Annis said, and everyone agreed. It would, indeed, be high drama.

‘Where's the JCR?' Reeve asked, remembering they had to do several scenes in there.

‘That's in Webster. Through here is the main garden.' The lawns underfoot were centuries old, and it felt as if they were walking on carpet. A pond full of Koi carp brushed shoulders with a croquet lawn. Walton was spread out to their left, and to their right was a mellow, red-brick building, faded to a rich rose colour. The place was steeped in academia, drowsy with ancient learning, heavy with old-world charm and beauty.

‘I
could stay here for ever,' Annis muttered quietly. ‘Except, of course, I couldn't. After a week of this I'd be climbing the walls. It's so quiet.'

‘Yeah, but it makes a great backdrop for a murder mystery,' Julie said, reliving her scenes in her head.

‘There aren't many students around,' John mused, as they headed towards the library.

‘A lot of them have gone down by now,' Barry confirmed. ‘Only those sitting Exams are still up.' As he spoke, a beautiful red-headed girl pushed open one of the big glass doors of the library and came walking down the steps.

‘Hey, Frederica, hang about,' Barry called, and the young woman paused, swinging her head around, exposing huge shining-dark eyes. She smiled as she recognised the Physics student who had rooms next door but one to her own.

‘Hello Barry. How were finals?'

‘Bloody,' Barry said gloomily. ‘What are you doing still up, anyway?'

Frederica grinned. ‘I seduced the Bursar into letting me stay on an extra few weeks.' She glanced curiously at the group of people with Barry, and he introduced them.

‘This is a group of actors who're going to be performing a murder mystery weekend at a conference coming in soon. Everybody, this is Frederica, a Fine Art student. Frederica, do you know anything about a painter called . . .
er
. . .'

‘William Hogarth,' Reeve said helpfully.

Annis watched the beautiful auburn-haired girl glance at Reeve curiously, and smile. ‘Hogarth was one of the greats,' she said sweetly, as if surprised that everybody didn't know of him. ‘One of his paintings, “The Graham Children” is in the Tate. What about him?'

‘One of his paintings is in Hall,' Barry offered hopefully.

Frederica nodded. ‘I know. He painted Alfred Gore.'

‘Who was . . . ?' Reeve prompted, grinning as Annis shot him a foul look.

Why was he making eyes at every woman but her, damn him!

Frederica smiled, but although the actor was as handsome as Byron, she hardly noticed. Annis, sensing this, both relaxed and, at the same time, became intrigued. If she was unaffected by Reeve, she must have one hell of a boyfriend.

‘Alfred Gore was an ex-slave-trader, turned abolitionist. His appointment as Principal here caused quite a stir, and the portrait is quite famous because of it. In fact, it's one of our best.'

Reeve whistled. ‘I'm surprised it's just hanging on the wall like that.'

Frederica blinked. She hadn't even given a thought as to the security of the college's
paintings.
It was unthinkable that anyone would try to steal them.

‘So, there you go,' Barry said. ‘Thanks Frederica.'

Frederica grinned, gave a general wave goodbye, and strolled towards Becket Arch. She had to get back to her canvas.

And she wondered whether Lorcan would be at the Ruskin.

Since that wonderful, magical afternoon, she'd seen so very little of him. It was beginning to worry her. After he'd walked with her back to the House, they'd been forced to say goodbye in plain view of her parents. So although she'd longed to kiss him, she hadn't been able to, and the agony of being forced just to watch him get into the car and drive away was still with her. Why hadn't he called her? It wouldn't have been so hard for them to bump into each other ‘accidentally' at the Ruskin. She frowned as she headed into the centre of town, thinking back to that glorious day. Had she done something wrong—something to put him off? After they'd dressed, they'd walked in silence back to Rainbow House, neither, it seemed, had quite known what to say to the other. Both still shell-shocked by the sweet passion they'd just shared. Now, after several days of separation, she was beginning to feel slightly panicked.

What if it had meant nothing more to him than a pleasant afternoon's roll in the grass?
What
if her innocence had turned him off? Or scared him off?

As she walked up The High, she tried to convince herself that everything was all right. But, somehow, she couldn't quite manage it.

Back at St Bede's, Barry took his sightseers back to the lodge and said goodbye. The cast trooped down to a burger bar and discussed what they'd seen that morning, and how best to incorporate it into their acting scenes. Eventually the group split up, by now everyone taking it for granted that Annis and Reeve were ‘an item'. Since nobody could possibly blame her for getting away from under Mrs Clemence, when given the chance, she supposed it was inevitable.

Now, as she finished the last of her coffee she leaned back in her chair and looked across at him. ‘Did you have to flirt with that Fine Art student this morning?' she asked crossly.

‘I didn't!'

‘You did. Not that she noticed.'

‘No. I realised that.'

‘Hurt your feelings, did it?'

‘Not my feelings. Just my ego.'

‘Used to having women fall at your feet like flies?' she asked sweetly.

‘At least four of them, twice a day,' he agreed promptly.

‘Shame.'

‘Hum. I must be losing my touch.'

‘Hah!' she snorted, with such gusto that he
grinned
broadly at her.

‘That's more like it. I was wondering where all your venom had gone.'

Annis snarled something unladylike, got up, and marched out. Hastily Reeve followed her, but Annis had already disappeared into the crowds. Cursing, Reeve hopped on the bus to Squitchey Lane and, once he'd reached home, stripped naked, and headed for the hot tub. He was getting tired of putting up with her moods. Tired of her suspicious nature and jealousy. Tired of having her around. As Annis would say—Hah! He leaned back in the bubbling water, a gentle smile playing about his lips. She would crack. Sooner or later.

When Annis walked in half an hour later, she too headed straight for her room and the shower, wanting to wash her hair. Dressed only in a robe, she sat in front of the dressing table mirror and used the hair-dryer to style her flowing locks. She wondered what time the night clubs opened, for she was determined to go out tonight and have a good time, come what may—far away from Reeve Morgan and his infuriating smile.

She froze as she heard a sound coming from the room next door. Reeve was probably still in town, chatting up a pretty tourist. Burglars perhaps? She tiptoed towards the sound of human activity, pushing open the door gingerly.

Reeve was lying naked in the hot tub. And
in
that instant she admitted that, all along, she'd known there were no burglars—she'd just needed an excuse to snoop. To invade his territory. To be right where she was, dressed only in a robe, watching him, this man dressed in nothing at all.

Reeve heard a slight sound and his head shot up, dark-blue eyes opening in surprise. He saw her at once, her freshly-washed hair gleaming blue-black against the white material of her robe. Her eyes glinted, orange-flecked, like a tiger spotting a particularly luscious deer.

‘Annis,' he said softly. And patted the surface of the water. ‘Care to join me?' he grinned invitingly.

Annis smiled sweetly. And shrugged off the robe. It slithered to the ground at her feet, and she had the immense pleasure of seeing the smile fade, and a dark wash of colour spread across his face. He swallowed hard.

She was like a goddess, standing there, one foot slightly in front of the other. Her skin was alabaster, in stark contrast to her hair the colour of ravens' wings, and the matching, mysterious, feminine triangle of raven hair at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts were high, the indentation of her waist highly pronounced, the smooth curve of her hips lending her a classic, hour-glass figure. She let him look at what he'd been missing, for just a few seconds longer, then smiled.