The Pleasures of Summer (48 page)

‘I’m sure it’s grand, but she’ll need a place in London, too. Can’t have her alone up there while you’re away. How long do you think you’ll be at that racket? I’m sure we can find you something in security down here instead.’

The rest of the meal was torture. Flynn couldn’t remember what he ate. O’Sullivan’s voice grated on and on. By the time coffee was served, Flynn felt that his life was no longer his own. He was almost relieved when his phone rang. He hurried from the dining room, ignoring the disapproving glares as the sound of the Tardis blared.

‘Are you carrying?’ Niall asked him without preamble.

‘Always,’ Flynn responded.

‘Good. That vehicle check you requested came back. One blue HiAce van registered in Malcolm’s name.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Tell me about it. It’s stored in a rented lockup along with some other nasty stuff – chains, knives, you name it, including some bullets for an old Luger pistol. Our Malcolm has made quite a little shrine to Summer. Photos, clothes and CCTV footage from the house.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Sorry, Flynn, but Malcolm made bail this afternoon.’

Flynn glanced around him. Everyone was a potential threat. Someone who could harm Summer. He had to get her out of here fast.

‘Stay where you are,’ Niall said. ‘Get her back to the penthouse. Andy and a few of the team are already on their way.’

Flynn disconnected the call. He loosened his tie and shoved it into his pocket as he hurried back to the restaurant. He grabbed Summer by the arm. ‘We need to go back to the room. Now.’

‘What the –’ Tim said.

‘Malcolm is out on bail. Niall found his lockup – it looks like he was behind the threats all along.’

Summer’s face blanched and she closed her eyes.

‘Now!’ Flynn snapped while he scanned the restaurant again. There were no new diners and most of the ones that remained were drinking coffee or enjoying after-dinner drinks. There was no visible threat here, but they would have to go through the lobby to reach the lifts.

The kitchen doors swung open again. The uniformed waiter kept his head down but Flynn recognized him immediately. Malcolm. Instinctively, he swung Summer behind him. She jarred into Tim, who crashed against the table. ‘Everybody down,’ he roared.

Like a slow motion clip from a movie, Flynn was conscious of movement all around him – shock, screams, the sound of glasses breaking – but he kept his eyes on the target. He drew his weapon and flicked the safety in a single motion.

Malcolm’s eyes were dark with rage and all of that rage was focused on one person. Summer.

‘I say. You can’t –’ A grey-haired man stood up, trying to protect his wife who was cowering in her chair.

‘Get out of the way,’ Flynn shouted. Bloody civilians.

Malcolm grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him in front of him, using him as a shield.

Fuck. He couldn’t get a clean shot at the target. This was going to get dirty. More screams. The kitchen doors opened and closed again.

Malcolm raised his arm and pointed the gun at the upturned table where Summer and her father were crouched. It wouldn’t be enough to protect them.

With every nerve end screaming, Flynn threw himself in front of the table. This was going to hurt.

Two gunshots sounded in quick succession. Malcolm fell to the floor, dragging his hostage with him.

Flynn was aware of a blinding pain. One that was horribly familiar. For a single moment he was back in Afghanistan, the night sky above his head and the tang of blood heady in his nostrils.

Then Summer was there, her face pale and shocked, and Andy and Jamie were pulling her away. His vision blurred and faded. Cold sweat bathed him as pain radiated from his battered leg and he had to clench his teeth not to
roar from the blinding pain. The last thing he remembered was someone shouting about an ambulance.

When he opened his eyes again it was dim. A siren wailed overhead. He couldn’t move his arms or legs and it took him a moment to realize that he was immobilized on a stretcher in the back of a speeding ambulance.

‘You’re awake,’ the paramedic stated the obvious. ‘You’ve certainly made a right mess of that knee.’

Fuck. The nurse in Germany had warned him. He could still hear the words coming from that prim, disapproving mouth of hers. If you don’t rest, you could lose the use of your knee.

Fuck fuck fuck. He had really done it this time.

‘We’re almost there. Are you in much pain?’ the paramedic asked.

‘No.’ Flynn shook his head. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the raging ache inside him. How could he marry Summer if he was crippled? What sort of a husband would he be to a woman like her if he couldn’t walk?

It was bad enough that she was filthy rich and he was only a soldier, but how could he support her if he was pensioned off? He was thirty-five not sixty-five. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with her physically. He would be Summer O’Sullivan’s crippled husband. Dependant on her financially and otherwise. Almost as bad as Bayliss.

No, he would be worse than Bayliss.

Cold realization started in Flynn’s gut and spread upwards until it engulfed his chest and strangled his heart.
He couldn’t do that to her. Not to his Summer. He couldn’t marry her now and he didn’t know how he was going to tell her.

The ambulance slowed and stopped and the doors opened. A second paramedic climbed in and they transferred him onto a gurney. Rows of ceiling lights flashed overhead as they hurried down the corridor and through doors marked ‘X-ray’.

Niall’s anxious face hovered over him. ‘Don’t worry. They’ve called in the best surgeon. You’ll be –’

‘Give me a phone.’

‘Sir, you can’t use a phone in here,’ the paramedic said.

‘Then get me outside, but give me a fucking phone.’ He couldn’t wait until after the surgery. If Summer found out that he was badly hurt, she would be here ASAP and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want her staying with him out of pity. He wouldn’t take that chance.

‘Niall man, I have to talk to her.’ Flynn hated the edge of pleading in his voice but already the pain was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to do it now.

Niall clapped him on the shoulder and, ignoring the protesting nurse, pushed the gurney outside and handed him a phone. ‘You have five minutes.’

The phone rang again and Summer checked the display before answering. ‘Flynn? Oh, thank god. I’ve been so anxious. They wouldn’t let me go in the ambulance.’

‘Better off there,’ his voice slurred.

‘But I want to –’ How could she leave him alone in a hospital when he had just saved her life? Her father hadn’t
stopped praising him, saying that he was the bravest man alive.

‘No. Summer, you have to listen to me.’ Each word was distinct, as if Flynn was forcing them out. ‘You have to realize …’

She waited. Something was very wrong here. A chill washed down her back.

‘Summer. I will always care for you. I want to be your friend, but …’

Her friend? Flynn wanted to be her friend?

He continued. ‘But we can’t get married. I’m not like Adam Bayliss. I’m not willing to live off your money.’

How could Flynn think about money at a time like this? He had saved her life. He had said yes. He had told her that he loved her. Surely he hadn’t changed his mind? ‘I know you’re not like Adam. I love you, Flynn. Why are you talking like this? It’s only money.’

‘To you, maybe.’

‘Are you worrying about my father? He’ll insist on a pre-nup, of course, but that’s almost standard these days when one person –’

‘Is richer than the other,’ he finished. ‘Can’t you see? Marriage would ruin what we have together. And that’s not the only thing.’

Flynn’s voice faltered and that gave her a small glimmer of hope. ‘Can’t we just talk about it? We needn’t have Westminster Cathedral if you don’t want to. We can –’

‘You’re not listening to me. Believe me when I say that I have thought about this. I’ve thought of nothing else.’

She heard him draw a breath and then there was silence before he added, ‘I don’t want to be Mr Summer O’Sullivan.’

Her body remembered before her brain, her stomach clenching as the first wave of pain hit her. Flynn was gone. She lay in the tangled sheets, wishing that she had something to throw at the bird who was chirping on her window ledge.

‘I don’t want to be Mr Summer O’Sullivan.’ His parting words were her first thought each morning and the last thing she remembered before she went to sleep. If she could sleep. Flynn had left the hospital by helicopter following surgery and despite putting pressure on Niall, she couldn’t find out where he had gone. He had just disappeared.

She wandered to the bathroom to survey the latest damage. Her eyelids were purple from crying. Par for the course. Summer returned to the bedroom to dress.

The new butler – Andrew from Perth – was probably waiting for her to come down for breakfast. He was under orders to report to her father what she ate. Some days she barely managed coffee and could swallow nothing solid. She glanced at her phone, squinting at the display through tired eyes. Lots of emails, some text messages from the girls wishing her well and hoping that she would fly to Australia for their weddings.

Someone from the publicity department at her dad’s office had forwarded a request for an in-depth interview about her and Flynn. ‘Keep that up and you’re definitely getting fired,’ she told the phone.

Flynn. Even reading his name hurt. How could he have done this to her? It wasn’t her fault that she was rich. But to break up with her because of it was more than she could bear. She had tried to forget him. Over the past
month she had bought an entire new wardrobe and partied until she dropped each night, but nothing took the edge off the pain.

There was a tap on the bedroom door and Andrew entered. ‘I apologize for disturbing you but your father sent this by courier from his office. He said that you may want to see it.’

He approached her with the same trepidation as a tourist who had fallen into the lion enclosure during feeding time at the zoo. ‘It seems to have been mixed up with your father’s business papers by the previous incumbent.’

By incumbent, she presumed he meant Malcolm. ‘What is it?’

‘I believe it’s a wedding invitation. From Scotland, ma’am.’

‘Scotland?’ She snatched it from his hand and tore the cream parchment envelope open.

Mr David Mackenzie and Ms Lorna Bell cordially invite you to celebrate with them on the occasion of their wedding at Canongate Kirk on July 31st 2013 at 3.30 p.m. and afterwards at The Witchery, Royal Mile, Edinburgh. RSVP
.

There was something familiar about the date
.
‘What day is it?’

‘It’s Friday, ma’am.’

‘No, not day, date. What date is it?’

‘The thirty first of July, Ma’am.

‘Holy shit.’ Summer leapt off the bed.

‘Time?’

‘Twelve forty-five.’

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘Will that be all, ma’am?’

Summer stopped halfway across the room. A flight on
one of her dad’s aircraft wouldn’t get her there on time. ‘Tell Dad I need a helicopter on the front lawn in one hour. I’m going to Edinburgh.’

After a quick shower, she riffled through her wardrobe and emptied some of her recent purchases onto the bed. She needed something that would wow Flynn. Something that would make his mouth water and the blood rush to his cock when he saw her. She selected a dramatic red shift dress. Well, she wouldn’t want to clash with the bride and Flynn would be able to spot her from a mile away. Teamed with a killer bag and a pair of fuck-me heels, she prepared for
Operation Flynn
. She would have to wear sunglasses to hide her eyes, but hopefully the swelling would have gone down before she saw him.

She would make Flynn see that she had changed. Hell, she would give up being an heiress and go live in the croft with him if he wanted her to. All she wanted was him. Nothing else mattered.

Despite the swift flight to the helipad at the Prestonfield Hotel, she knew that she would miss the arrival of the bride. But when her car arrived at the Canongate, the wedding party were still waiting outside and Lorna’s limousine was pulling away. Something was definitely wrong.

‘Summer.’ An anxious David waved to her. ‘Is he with you? Is Flynn here?’

‘No, I …’ Her heart dropped. Flynn was the best man. Surely he wouldn’t let his only brother down? ‘I haven’t seen him since the night … I have no idea where he is.’

Morag arrived, resplendent in lavender. ‘I’m sorry David, but the minister says that he can’t wait. He has another wedding booked for half past four.’

‘Damn. I can’t believe Flynn has just vanished like this.’ David turned away, shaking his head, and she was left alone with Morag, who pulled her phone from her neat handbag and rang the chauffeur. ‘You can bring her back now. We’ll have to start without him.’

The rest of the ceremony went without a hitch and behind dark glasses, Summer brazened out the pointed stares. Her foolish dreams of being reunited with Flynn had turned to dust before the wedding was over. It wasn’t hard to imagine what they were saying about her. The arrival of the infamous Summer O’Sullivan at an intimate Scottish wedding had almost upstaged the bride. She guessed that the invitation hadn’t come from Lorna. David must have insisted on it.