The Wall (14 page)

her ask Greg if he had been starving the poor hound.

'It's the second time he's been fed today,' he replied dryly, crossing

his arms and leaning against the doorway. 'That "poor hound" gets

fed three times a day. I don't think he's hurting any.' Looking at

Beowulf s sleek shiny coat and firm rippling muscles, Sara had to

agree. He looked trim and fit, but he certainly didn't look thin or

weak from lack of food.

Greg poured her another cup of coffee, and they lounged in the

kitchen without saying much. It was a perfect opportunity for her to

study him in depth. She was genuinely puzzled.

The barrier, so obvious yesterday evening and the first time she had

met him, was missing today. He was showing himself to be a warm,

compassionate man, sensitive to her needs and caring about her. His

eyes were warm and sparkling, not hard and repelling. His face was

still hard; nothing could soften those features after a point, but his

expression was relaxed and easy, not wary and guarded.

He was an enigma. He was tantalising and unknown. In many ways

he was a contradiction in terms. She couldn't get her mind off him.

There was a power of being about him that manifested itself in

certain ways: in the hard line of his jaw, in odd inflexibilities of his

speech, in his quicksilver intelligence that forced her mind into a high

gear of thought, in his quiet self- confidence. After a prolonged study

of the lines of his face, Sara realised that he was like steel tempered

by fire. The lines were not from maturity in years, but rather from

suffering and hardship. She guessed that he had been through some

kind of hell, and very probably was still dwelling in a private prison

of damnation.

By the end of the afternoon, she had come to think of him as being

beautiful, and she watched for every change in his mobile face, every

different expression. He soon picked her up and carried her off to the

downstairs bathroom, plunking her down decisively on the stool. She

was laughing breathlessly, her hair all over her face, and she asked

him with a mock sternness in her voice that was betrayed by a slight

quiver, 'Just what do you think you're doing? If you think I'm going

to go to the bathroom with you in here, you've got another think

coming, buster! Beowulf s just the same. He insisted on coming into

the bathroom with me when I took my shower.'

Greg knelt at her feet with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips

and started to remove her socks. 'I'm going to have a look at the

bottoms of your feet. I should have done this last night, but you were

out like a light as soon as you hit the bed, and I didn't have the heart

to disturb you.' He turned one small foot over gently and studied her

bruises and lacerations.

It looked very small and white, held like that in his big-boned, darkly

tanned hands. The delicate arch of her foot was mottled with black

bruises and red cuts.

Sara wasn't thinking about her foot, though. She was still mulling

over Greg's words. It must mean, she thought, with a squirm and a

sudden rush of red, that he put me to bed last night. No wonder I

didn't remember changing into my nightgown! His dark head came

up and he sent her a slanting, mocking glance as if he knew what she

was thinking. She said hurriedly, 'I made sure they were clean when I

took my shower.'

'That must have hurt. I think we would be wise to put some antiseptic

on those lacerations, just in case, since we left them a while before

checking. Besides, I'd like to wrap them in gauze bandaging to keep

them clean. That way you won't stick to your socks by the time you

get ready for bed.' He turned, opened a small cabinet, and took out a

first aid kit and soon was applying antiseptic to her feet. It made her

eyes water from pain in spite of his obvious attempts to be gentle,

and she took in a shaky breath when he finished one foot and

wrapped it several times before sliding it back into her sock. By the

end of the second foot she was gripping the edge of the sink and

holding her lips so tightly that there was a white line around them.

Looking up, he caught sight of her pain, and took her unhesitatingly

into his arms. The onrush of warmth from his caring and sympathy

had her clinging to him with something akin to desperation. It felt so

safe. He drew in a breath, looked down at her face so close to his

own, and brought down his mouth. He was warm and his lips were

firm and yet mobile. It shook her. He brushed her mouth over and

over, then deepened the kiss with a gentle persuasion that had her

responding almost before she realised it.

Afterwards, he helped her into the den, and Sara knew without any

words being spoken that he had retreated once again.

GREG was very thoughtful. Sara was made comfortable and he

brought her a paperback to read, and she had never felt so alone

before in her life when he closed the door to his study after

explaining that he needed to do some work.

Some time later she knocked on his door softly and was rewarded

with an immediate and rather short, 'Come in.' She poked her head

around the edge of the door after opening it halfway and Greg leaned

back in his swivel chair, gesturing impatiently. 'I said come in, not

peep at me like a mouse!'

So she limped in and leaned against the back of the chair in front of

his desk to take the weight off her feet. 'I'm going back to the house

now,' she began, and paused, and Greg came forward out of his chair

with a resounding crash. It was quite an effective silencer and it had

her staring at him with wide eyes.

'Like hell you are!' he shouted furiously. 'You've got to be crazy to

even contemplate staying there after what happened! No way, lady,

you are going to stay right here!'

She cocked an eyebrow, attempting to hide the flush of anger that

suffused her mind. It had been a good eight years since anyone had

dared to talk to her like that. Her mother was the last, and it had been

a decade since she had heeded anything delivered to her in that tone

of voice. She wasn't about to stand for it now, not from Greg or

anyone else for that matter. 'Thank you for hearing me out,' she said

sarcastically. The biting edge to her voice was keen. She knew her

own voice intimately; she had to, to perform as well as she did.

She used her voice inflections to advantage now, and she saw him

wince slightly. 'But I was about to finish with "pick up a few things."

Now that you mention it, though, I might add another thank you for

your kind hospitality last night, but I really must be going.' With that

statement, she closed her mouth in what she knew to be an infuriating

manner, turned her back on Greg, and limped with dignity out of the

room. He caught up with her faster than she had expected.

She was whirled around and pushed against the nearby wall,

imprisoned with two strong arms one to each side. Incensed with his

cavalier manner, she brought up a stiff warning forefinger to stick it

in front of his nose with a hiss through bared teeth, 'Watch it!'

He ignored the finger hovering near his nose. 'Where are you going?'

It was a harsh tone of voice, one that she resented like she resented

his attitude.

She answered him snappily, 'I'll let you know when I decide!' He was

very big, she realised suddenly. His lower body was leaning against

hers to keep her in place, and she found it quite distracting.

'Are you wanting to check into a motel, or are you going to go

home?' he insisted, a thread of urgency colouring his question.

Sara's eyes dropped with a suffusion of doubt, and something in his

face made her answer him seriously, 'I don't know, really. I hadn't

thought about it.' With a quick sideways look up at his shadowed

expression, she admitted tersely, 'You made me very angry.'

'I know,' he responded absently, 'Sara, don't feel you have to go home

just because of this. Don't cut your vacation short. You can stay here

if you like, for as long as you want. You'd be safe. Even if I needed

to leave the house for a while, Beowulf is here and he would protect

you.'

She stared at his shirt front, longing to stay so badly that she could

taste it in her mouth. Uncertainties were undermining her thinking,

though, and she couldn't seem to come to any rational decision.

'What—what about your privacy? I'd be an imposition, I'd upset your

routine, I'd . ..'

He interrupted. 'You wouldn't be an imposition. Sara, do you want to

stay?' An insistent hand was forcing her chin up, compelling her to

look into his very serious eyes. She did so and found she couldn't

look away.

'Yes.' It was a bare thread of sound, but he heard it anyway.

He said in a low voice, 'Then stay.' It was most persuasive, the intent

and almost pleading way he spoke.

Sara closed her eyes and nodded.

Greg didn't accompany her back to the house since he had several

things that he needed to do, but he insisted that she take Beowulf

with her and let him run through the cabin before she entered. It was

a good suggestion, and she accepted gratefully.

He told her not to be surprised if she found items in the house moved

around a little. 'I took the liberty of calling the police this morning

while you were in bed,' he explained, 'and they went through the

house to check for fingerprints, but didn't find any. Whoever it was

had to be wearing gloves. They also determined his mode of entry.

He'd picked the lock, I guess.'

The front door swung open silently and the house loomed so quiet

and empty in front of her that she was more than happy to let the

huge dog bound ahead and sniff out the place. While he disappeared,

she inspected the front lock like Greg had suggested, and noticed the

scratch marks around the lock. It was immensely frightening, those

small, telltale marks.

Beowulf was trotting back into the living room easily, his demeanour

placid, so she went in and locked the door behind her, only

afterwards realising how futile that really was. She had a competent

guard dog with her, though, and she felt more or less at ease. Even so

she didn't want to waste time.

She went straight to. the phone and dialled long-distance to

California, and soon she heard Barry's voice, sounding as if he was

speaking through fuzzy cotton. 'Barry?' she asked.

'Sara!' he exclaimed in understandable surprise. 'Love, this is

unexpected but rather sweet of you. I had an uneventful flight,

nothing unusual.'

She had to laugh. 'That's not why I'm calling, you muttonhead!'

He grunted. 'Figured as much, but you can't blame a fellow for trying.

What's wrong? Spent all your money already?'

'I wish it was that simple. Barry, I had a midnight intruder last night.'

A brief silence. 'Are you all right, babe? You weren't—I mean,

nothing occurred—oh hell!'

'No, I wasn't raped, if that was what you meant. I couldn't sleep and

when I heard someone in the living room, I crawled out my bedroom

window and ran to a neighbour's house. We came back later and

things were ripped up in my bedroom, but nothing was stolen, and

frankly that scares the hell out of me. Barry, I'm afraid it might have

been someone who knows who I really am.'

He asked her, 'Are you coming back right away? Where are you now,

at a motel?'

'No, I'm back at the house getting a few things.'

'You little idiot!' he exploded. She had to hold the phone receiver

away from her ear slightly. 'Of all the damn-fool things to do, that

takes the icing right off the cake . ..'

'Hold your spittle, Barry,' she protested, chuckling. 'I've a very big

and very black Dobermann panting at my side at the moment, and I

don't plan on staying.

What I'm calling about is to tell you that I'm staying a while longer in

the area with a friend, and if you want to get in touch with me just

write here. I'll be over for mail every day. But Barry, use my real

name, just in case someone decides to look at my mail. Also, I want

you to do something else for me. Do you remember those crazy fan

letters that I was getting around six months ago?'

'Sure, I remember,' he responded immediately. 'Do you think the guy

who wrote those could be your intruder?'