“Before the crash?” His tone was bitter. “I know.”

“But he thought – I mean –” She broke off, her brows drawn together in perplexity. “It was generally assumed – well, you disappeared. My father said – lots of people said –” She moved her shoulders uncomfortably, leaving the words unsaid.

“It was thought that I was dead?” He was ironic. “Oh, yes, I’m quite aware of that rumour. My injuries were extensive, and it suited me to foster such a belief. There’s nothing more pathetic than a fallen idol who still tries to hog the limelight.”

“But it wasn’t like that,” Helen protested. “The crash was a terrible accident. No one was to blame. The publicity –”

“Did I say I blamed myself?” he interrupted her, his voice cool and cynical.

“No. No, but –” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “My father was such a fan of yours. He still has some pictures of you in his study. And there were thousands of others like him. Do you think it was fair to allow them to assume that you were dead?”

Dominic Lyall straightened, one long brown hand massaging his hip. “Do you think I’m not entitled to any privacy simply because for a time I lived in the public eye, Miss James?”

Helen didn’t know how to answer him. “I wouldn’t presume to make judgements, Mr. Lyall. All I’m saying is that it seems a pity that a talent such as yours should be denied to other aspiring drivers.”

His lips twisted. “So much and no more.” He ran his fingers over the light hair at the nape of his neck. “You wouldn’t begin to understand, Miss James.”

Helen held up her head. “You underestimate me, Mr. Lyall.”

His smile held a kind of self-mockery. “Perhaps I do, at that. However …” He drew a deep breath. “However, it’s unfortunate that your memory serves you so well. I should have thought a child of sixteen would have been more interested in popular music and its idols.”

“I’ve told you – my father went to racing events. Sometimes I went with him.”

“Oh, yes, your father.” His eyes narrowed broodingly. “A curious anomaly.”

“What do you mean?” His words troubled her a little.

Dominic Lyall moved his powerful shoulders in a deprecative gesture. “I should have thought it would have been obvious, Miss James.”

“What would have been obvious?”

He regarded her with that denegrating unblinking stare. “Why, your recognising me, Miss James. A most – unfortunate occurrence. I’m afraid it means that you will not be leaving here in the morning, after all.”

FOR several minutes there was complete silence in the room. Helen couldn’t believe she had heard him aright, but something in that lean, harsh countenance warned her that she had.

“You – you can’t be serious!” she said at last.

“I’m afraid I am, Miss James.”

“But – but why? Why?”

“Surely that’s obvious, too. I have no intention of laying myself open to the kind of publicity that the discovery of me living here would create.”

Helen refused to admit to the sense of panic that was churning inside her. “But – but I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she protested, saying the words she had heard so many times on the films and in television when the central character was confronted by some fugitive from the law. But Dominic Lyall was not a fugitive from the law – only from the world!

“I’m afraid I couldn’t take that risk.” He shook his head. “I think the temptation to tell your father that the man he thought dead was alive and well and living in the Lake District would be more than you could stand.”

“It – it wouldn’t!” Helen twisted her hands together. “In – in any case, you can’t keep me here! I – it’s illegal!”

His smile was not pleasant. “Really?”

“But – but it’s insane! I mean, my father will be looking for me!”

“You told me yourself he would never dream of looking for you here.”

“Not initially, no. But if all else fails –”

“By then you will no doubt be free to go back to him.”

She trembled. “What do you mean?”

“Simply that I intend to make arrangements to leave the country. Until I do, you will remain.”

Helen gasped. “But that could take months!”

“Weeks, anyway,” he conceded dryly.

The door opened suddenly behind her and she started nervously. It was the manservant, Bolt, who stood on the threshold, his massive shoulders coated with snow.

“Ah, Bolt, you’re back.” Dominic Lyall greeted the man with a warmth he had not shown to Helen. “Did you find the car?”

Bolt grinned. “Yes, sir. The suitcases are in the hall. If you’ll give me a moment to shed my coat, I’ll show the young lady to her room.”