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Which meant that Rachel would have to fall back on her risky plan B.
While he was still swaying from the momentum of his action she surged forward with a little cry of alarm.
‘Look out!’ She caught his padded shoulders in a bunching grip. ‘Don’t move—’ Her body bumped softly into his as he instinctively stiffened. ‘—or you’ll trip over—’
He teetered on the brink of the pool as something firm slid against the back of his ankles, preventing him from shifting his feet to re-establish his centre of gravity over his arching back.
‘The—’ She snatched her hands back, her eyes flying wide with horror as he continued to topple backwards, his arms now windmilling wildly.
‘Cat!’ Her hands clapped over her mouth as he crashed down into the water, sending a small tidal wave spilling over the tiled edges.
‘Oh, no!’ she cried as the string quartet on the balcony craned to see what had happened in a cacophony of discordant strings. ‘Matthew, are you all right?’
For one awful instant when he went under she thought he might not be able to swim, but he almost immediately resurfaced and began to swim clumsily towards the side, hampered by his waterlogged clothes.
‘I could see it was going to happen but I couldn’t do anything to stop it!’ she cried apologetically.
A waiter and a few other guests hurried down the steps to assist, and she waited for them to reach her before she risked offering Matthew her helping hand. While one person falling in the pool could be dismissed as an accident, two would be serious grounds for gossip.
Merrilyn fluttered to the fore as he
was hauled to his dripping feet. ‘W-what happened?’ she stammered.
‘He tripped over the cat and fell into the pool,’ Rachel told her succinctly.
Merrilyn’s smooth brow wrinkled. ‘But we don’t have a—’ She caught Rachel’s eye. ‘Oh, you must mean the neighbour’s cat. That wretched tom is always prowling over here—one day I’m going to ring the SPCA…’ She trailed off as Rachel’s tight smile warned her not to overdo the descriptive colour.
‘Unless I get my hands on it first and wring its damned neck!’ growled Matthew Riordan, removing his fogged glasses and raking his hand over his wet head, sending little rivulets streaming down into the back of his collar. ‘I didn’t even see it!’
‘It’s coal-black,’ Merrilyn said quickly. ‘I’m most frightfully sorry, Matthew. How awful! Naturally we’ll pay for dry-cleaning. Oh, dear, you’re so wet!’ she finished feebly.
‘Water tends to do that to people,’ he said blithely.
‘And we were just about to sit down to our individual herb soufflés!’ Merrilyn shrilled, clenching her beringed fingers over her heart.
There was a little pause, and Rachel could see her obsessive need to be the perfect hostess warring with her fervent desire be swiftly rid of her unexpectedly awkward guest.
There was an audible squelch as he shifted on his feet. ‘Since I don’t have my car with me, I can’t drive home…and I can hardly get into a taxi like this,’ he said impatiently, moving his arms and sending water cascading out of his sleeves.
Rachel noticed with alarm that his consonants were now definitely blurred and he was visibly unsteady on his feet. Instead of sobering him up, as she had half hoped, the adrenalin shock of his dunking had evidently speeded up the absorption of alcohol into his already saturated system.
‘You can’t let all those soufflés go flat, Merrilyn,’ she said pointedly. ‘Shall I show Matthew somewhere to dry off while the rest of you go ahead with dinner? Preferably somewhere that he doesn’t have to trek back through the house—like your guest quarters, perhaps? He might like to have a shower, as well as a change of clothes…’
‘Of course!’ Merrilyn eagerly fell on the immediate solution to her dilemma. ‘The guest-house would be perfect!’ It was tucked well out of sight and sound of the main house. ‘I’ll send a maid along shortly with some suitable clothes.’ But not shortly enough to interfere with dinner, she silently communicated as she added, ‘Uh, do you need any help, Rachel…?’
Rachel had received the silent message. ‘No thanks.’ She wedged her shoulder discreetly under a dripping arm. ‘I’m sure I can manage.’
‘You will see that he has everything he needs?’ Merrilyn couldn’t help pleading.
‘Of course I will,’ said Rachel confidently.
She wasn’t so sure of her ability to manage ten minutes later, as she was faced with the task of manhandling a fully-grown male out of his clinging wet clothes. Although Matthew Riordan had meekly allowed her to guide his listing body along the cobbled path around the house, once they had reached the guest-house he had turned infuriatingly passive.
‘If you don’t get out of those things soon you’re going to get a chill,’ Rachel repeated as he stood motionless in the middle of the big bedroom, creating a small puddle on the polished wooden floor.
He merely gazed at her blankly and she sighed, taking the spectacles out of his limp hand and placing them on the table beside the king-sized bed, with its wrought iron bedhead topped with shiny brass.
‘Look, you’re shivering already.’ She put a hand on his chest to confirm her point and was taken aback at the heat burning through his wet shirt. Even given the warmth of the night it seemed unnatural, particularly in view of the visible tremors which were shaking his torso.
