No More Lonely Nights (7 page)

He spun on his heel and walked back past her room, and Sian followed after a pause, but as she got to her door he suddenly came back just as she was switching on her bedroom light. Startled, she faced him.

‘What now?’

‘You didn’t really think I went in there to…’ He stopped, his mouth twisting.

‘Go to bed, Mr Cassidy,’ said Sian, closing her door.

His foot stopped it and he shouldered through. ‘You listen to me,’ he said fiercely. ‘As it happens, I’m too tired to rape anyone, but even if I weren’t, I don’t see myself hurting Annette. I’m not given to violence against women, although in your case I might be tempted.’

‘Don’t be,’ Sian said coolly. ‘Hit me and I’ll hit back. You don’t scare me!’

‘Oh, don’t I?’ he said in a soft, angry voice, his mouth a white line.

‘No, you don’t,’ Sian said with more assurance than she felt, trying to stare him down.

He slowly ran his eyes over her, from her ruffled blonde hair, down over the curve of her slim body in the clinging blue satin, to the pale, bare feet showing beneath the deep lace hem. Until then, Sian hadn’t been self-conscious, but she began to feel heat flowing under her skin, and her body trembled. Aghast, she swallowed; what was wrong with her?

He was doing it deliberately, of course; his flickering gaze was intended to make her wildly conscious of being half-naked and alone with him at night, and it succeeded. Sian read the intention, the mockery, but she saw something else in those grey eyes: a real sensuality that made her go weak at the knees. Worse than that, she felt an answering emotion. She was attracted to him; it was pure chemistry she felt leaping between them, like a white flame. It made no sense; they had only just met and didn’t know each other, he had just been going to marry another girl, and she was in no hurry to get involved with another man after her last emotional crash.

She knew what was behind William Cassidy’s mood, too. He was in turmoil over Annette; jealous, hurt, bitter, he had gone into that room… to do what? Sian looked into his eyes and wondered. He had just said he was too tired to rape anyone; but what had been in his mind? What was in it now?

‘Go to bed, Mr Cassidy,’ she repeated, her voice icing over. ‘This has been a bad day for you and I’m very sorry, but don’t take it out on me. I’m not to blame. You say you’re tired and I believe you. I’m tired, too. If I don’t get some sleep soon I’ll go out of my mind, so can we please stop playing stupid games?’

For a moment, he just stared at her fixedly, then the strange, harsh light dissolved in his eyes and he gave a twisted smile, and yawned.

‘Cool, aren’t you? And right, of course. Goodnight.’

He went so suddenly that it was another moment before Sian realised she was alone. She closed her door, then, listening to the soft departing footsteps until the house was silent again, she stumbled back to bed and lay down. Sleep didn’t just come—it fell on her like a house, smothering her.

When she woke up it was morning; light filled the room and she lay in a state of confusion for a while until she remembered where she was and what had happened the night before. She slid out of bed in a hurry and ran at once to the next room. Annette still slept heavily, her breathing regular. Sian crept out again and came face to face with William Cassidy once more.

He was fully dressed, but differently. This morning he wore a black polo-neck sweater over a cream silk shirt and casual grey trousers. Sian wondered if he had slept at all. He had shaved, clearly; his skin was smooth and faintly damp, and so was his dark hair, as if he had recently showered.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Is Annette awake?’

She shook her head. ‘She’s dead to the world. Any news from the hospital?’

‘Her father made it through the night, if that’s what you mean, but it’s still touch and go. He’s not conscious, though, so there’s no real point in her going there until later. Let her sleep while she can.’

‘Did you?’ asked Sian curiously, turning towards her own room.

‘For a few hours. You?’

Sian wished he would stop looking her over like that; it made her self-conscious and it was annoying because it must be automatic—the man was hooked on Annette. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had already been in there this morning, checking on her.

‘My housekeeper will have breakfast on the table in fifteen minutes,’ he said as she closed the door of her room. ‘If you’re hungry, that is.’

‘I’ll be down,’ Sian said, making for the bathroom to shower.

It was almost eight-thirty by her watch when she made her way downstairs, after checking again on Annette. Sian paused in the white-panelled hall, her gaze flying around it curiously. She hadn’t had a chance to orientate herself in the house last night when they had arrived, and hadn’t a clue where to go from here, but she admired the look of the place—flowers everywhere, the deep gleam of highly polished wood, a long-case clock near the foot of the stairs, a silver carriage clock on a table, reflected in an Art Nouveau mirror in a painted wood frame. The effect was charming. Was William Cassidy’s housekeeper responsible for the well-cared-for look? She hadn’t been in evidence last night, and Sian wondered where she was this morning. Maybe she was one of those invisible servants people had in fairy-tales. I wish I had one too, Sian thought, smiling.

‘What’s funny?’

His deep voice made her jump. She hadn’t noticed him walking up behind her, and she spun around to face him, eyes wide and very bright.

‘Oh, hello! I was wondering where to go.’

‘I thought we’d eat in the morning-room,’ he said, and she laughed.

‘Oh, by all means!’ she said drily, getting a hard, unamused look from him.

‘I’d better check on Annette first, though.’

‘I just did,’ Sian said, stepping in front of him as he made for the stairs.

Their eyes met; his narrowed and hers were very green and very ironic.

‘You’ve got the wrong impression,’ he muttered. ‘You don’t need to protect Annette from me. I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head.’

‘I’m sorry, but you scare her,’ Sian said, and his eyes blazed.

‘I do what?’ His voice rose, and there was violence in it.

Sian grimaced. ‘If you snarl at her like that, I’m not surprised she gets scared!’

‘I wasn’t snarling,’ he snarled.

Sian laughed and saw his angry eyes blink. He looked hard at her and ran a hand through that thick, dark hair.

‘I’m starving. Can we eat?’ Sian looked around. ‘Where is this morning-room?’

He gestured. ‘This way.’ They walked down a narrow corridor and into a sunny, square room overlooking a rose-garden. Sian went to the window and stared out, glad of the sunlight on her face, inhaling the dewy morning scent of the roses. She couldn’t see any other building; the garden was enormous and bordered on one side by a high redbrick wall; on the other by the dark, secret mass of the New Forest. The garden was as immaculate as the house; the lawns smooth-shaven and edged with flowerbeds bursting with colour. He must keep quite a large staff, but they were not in evidence.

‘What a lovely garden,’ she said, turning back into the room.

‘Thank you.’ He held a chair back for her. ‘Come and eat.’

As she sat down, a woman in a white apron bustled into the room carrying a tray of food which she began setting down on the table. Sian watched curiously, met the woman’s brown eyes, and got a quick, friendly smile.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

‘Good morning, miss,’ replied the housekeeper. ‘I’ve made some scrambled eggs and bacon, but if there’s anything else you’d like…’

‘That sounds marvellous, thank you.’

The woman put out a rack of toast, freshly made and golden brown, ran a glance over the table and left. Sian poured herself some freshly squeezed orange juice and helped herself to some egg and a piece of toast. There was a pile of Sunday newspapers at William Cassidy’s elbow. He nodded to them and asked, ‘Want one of these?’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘My own paper first.’ It was a pity she had to remind him, but she wanted to see the story in print; find out what the subs had done to her copy. She watched the frown appear on that lean face, the eyes glitter and the mouth harden, but he flicked over the papers and threw her own over to her without commenting.

They ate their breakfast in silence. Sian wryly noted the changes that had been made in the story and wondered how William Cassidy would react when he read it. He wasn’t going to like it. But then, nobody ever did like what you said about them; she had learnt that long ago. In cold print a fact would look like an accusation; a comment could become painful. She had reported what Annette had said to her and she hadn’t invented a word, but would William Cassidy believe that?

She put the paper down, and poured herself some more coffee, then glanced enquiringly at him. ‘Can I refill your cup?’

‘Thanks.’ He held it out, looking at the paper by her plate. ‘Finished with that?’

She reluctantly handed it to him, wishing she hadn’t been around when he saw it. Sipping her coffee, she took another paper and glanced through that. They had the story, of course, but not in the same detail, or from the inside, as she had.

Sian would have felt triumph at that; it was always fun to get an exclusive, to scoop the others, but at present she was more interested in William Cassidy’s reaction. She heard a rustle as his long fingers tightened on the pages, the thick sound of his angry breathing, and bit her lip in apprehension. She hoped he wasn’t going to turn violent.

He suddenly flung the paper across the table, knocking over the jug of orange juice. ‘I ought to wring your neck!’ he grated.

Sian snatched up her linen table-napkin and hurriedly began to mop at the spreading orange stain, glad to have something to do. ‘I realise it can’t have been pleasant to read,’ she said, and he made a furious noise.

‘You’ve made me sound like some sort of ogre.’

‘I just wrote what Annette had said.’ Sian came out with that before she had thought about it, and wished she hadn’t because it wasn’t the most tactful excuse, was it?

His face darkened with angry blood. ‘Annette’s known me most of her life—ever since she was a toddler, in fact. It’s true we didn’t know each other all that well until she started working for me in my office, but for heaven’s sake, she was going to marry me. Even if she changed her mind, she can’t have hated me enough to talk about me as if I… and to a total stranger, too!’

She watched him with anxious sympathy; she felt guilty. She had never had to face anyone she had written about in that intimate way. It put her job into a new perspective for her. She had hurt this man! She bit her lower lip, watching him uneasily.

Her career had been ultra-important to her until that moment; she had never questioned its validity or hesitated to sacrifice anything in the pursuit of it. This was a first for her.

‘You probably invented most of this!’ he accused her, but she didn’t deny it angrily. She stayed silent, her lashes lowered, her green eyes watching him through them. He stayed silent too, staring back. Suddenly she saw his mouth twitch, his body slacken from the tense rage that had held it.

‘Stop looking at me like that!’ he said softly, in a very different tone, and Sian lifted her lashes, and widened her eyes at him in query.

‘How was I looking at you?’

His stare held an amused intimacy that made her heart skip a beat in surprise. ’
You
are a very annoying woman,’ he drawled, and at that moment Annette ran into the room, breathless and white-faced.

‘Is there any news? Is my father…why didn’t you wake me?’

Cass was on his feet at once and beside her, putting an arm round her. Annette didn’t shrink away, as Sian half expected; she leaned on him, looking up into his face imploringly.

‘I’ve talked to the hospital. He’s a little better this morning. When you’ve had some breakfast we’ll go back there.’

‘I couldn’t eat! I want to go now.’

‘No, Annette. At least drink some tea and have some toast! It won’t take two minutes, but if you don’t eat you might be ill, and that won’t help your father, will it?’ Cass used a gentle, reasoning voice, the voice one might use to a child, and Annette sighed, her face helpless.

‘Come and sit down,’ Cass said, leading her to the table.

Annette looked at Sian as she sat down opposite her, in the seat next to where Cass had been sitting. For a moment Sian felt the other girl didn’t remember her; Annette frowned, stared, then said, ‘Oh, hello!’

‘Hello, Annette.’ Sian poured her some tea while Cass vanished in search of fresh toast.

Annette drank the tea without appearing to be aware what she was doing.

‘Where did Ricky go?’

She was in shock, Sian realised at that instant. Her eyes held a dazed blankness that was rather worrying.

‘To stay with a friend. He’ll probably see you at the hospital.’

Annette was on her feet again. ‘We must go!’

Cass came back before she reached the door, and stopped her. ‘The toast is on its way, and I rang the hospital again. You couldn’t see him even if you went now, because he’s fast asleep.’

Annette sagged again and let him put her back on the chair, her slim body like that of a rag doll. Sian watched Cass’s gentleness and a funny little ache started inside her. Considering the humiliation Annette had inflicted on him yesterday, he was amazingly kind to her and that must mean that he loved Annette very much. There was no rational explanation why that should bother Sian; she didn’t really know either of them very well, yet that ache went on inside her and all her cool self-derision couldn’t stop it.

The housekeeper brought the toast on a plate and looked at Annette in a muddled way—half sympathy, half resentment—before stamping out again. Annette didn’t notice; she was past noticing anything. Sian put toast on her plate and offered her marmalade or honey.

Annette shook her head, ate the buttered toast with reluctance, as if it were sawdust, but at least had drunk her tea, into which Sian had stirred a heavy dose of sugar. Annette didn’t appear to notice that, either.

She had almost finished her toast when a new arrival made them all start. They heard the bang of the front door, footsteps in the hall, then there was a whirl of skirts and a very beautiful girl hurtled into the room, her arms full of newspapers.