Читать книгу One Summer At The Castle - Пенни Джордан, Jules Bennett - Страница 15

THE REST OF THE DAY was an anticlimax.

After refusing Mrs Ferguson’s offer of lunch, Rosa holed up in her room, wondering if she’d ever feel normal again. The events of the morning seemed unbelievable in retrospect. Had she really almost been seduced by a man against his will?

She simply wasn’t the kind of woman things like that happened to. Her marriage to Colin Vincent and his subsequent betrayal had left her distinctly suspicious where men were concerned. Yet from the beginning she’d not had that feeling with Liam. Perhaps because she’d never expected that he might be attracted to her.

Even now, she hardly knew what he felt about her. Not enough to trust her, she acknowledged, wishing she’d had a chance to convince him she didn’t care about his scars. Were they the reason he lived here, miles from any of the people he worked with? She wished she knew him better, wished she could show him that she—

She—what?

Rosa shivered. What was she thinking? She wasn’t in love with him, for heaven’s sake. In lust, maybe, and she very much regretted the way she’d had to leave the castle. But she hardly knew the man. Certainly not enough to trust him with her love.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop her from regretting what had happened. She still didn’t know what he thought of her—if he imagined she was used to doing that sort of thing.

She wasn’t.

Rosa quivered. She couldn’t ever remember behaving so shamelessly before, even with Colin. But then, the feelings she’d had for Colin had been nothing like this, and that was something else she regretted.

But had she really asked Liam to have sex with her? Had she really promised him there need be no commitment on his part, other than to take her to bed and make mad, passionate love to her?

Her face burned at the memory. Burned, too, at the realisation that she’d meant it. That she meant it still. She wanted him. Wanted to be with him. And something told her it would have been an experience she would never forget.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Liam had made sure of that. In one devastating move he’d shown her exactly how damaged he was. Not just physically. His physical scars had healed. It was the other scars he carried beneath the surface that worried Rosa.

Because it was that sensitivity, which seemed to be as raw now as when the attack had happened, that had caused him to turn away from her. She was no psychologist, but she’d gamble that someone else was responsible for the protective shell he’d built around himself. Someone had hurt him, and she didn’t believe it was his attacker.

So who? It had to be a woman, she decided painfully. A special woman. A woman he’d been in love with. Someone he’d been relying on to support him through his ordeal…

The phone rang downstairs and Rosa tensed. Not that she expected it to be for her. Liam wasn’t likely to try and get in touch with her again.

Nevertheless, her heart leapt when Mrs Ferguson called, ‘It’s for you, Miss Chantry.’ And then sank again when she added, ‘It’s your mother.’

What now?

Rosa felt the weight of her own inadequacy descend on her as she hurried down the stairs to take the call. Yes, she’d asked Liam about the film, she rehearsed silently. But, no, she had no further news to give her mother.

‘Hello, Mum,’ she said, picking up the receiver, injecting a note of optimism into her voice. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear the storm’s over at last. I’ll be leaving the island on Monday at the latest.’

‘Will you, dear?’ Mrs Chantry sounded strangely agitated. ‘Well, that’s good.’ She paused. ‘Will you come straight home?’

Rosa frowned. ‘I thought I might contact an information centre on the mainland and find out if they know—’

‘Sophie’s not in Scotland,’ broke in her mother swiftly. And then, before Rosa could object, she added, ‘She’s been in London, but she’s home now.’

Rosa was stunned. ‘In London?’ she echoed, blankly.

‘Yes.’ Her mother didn’t sound as if she was enjoying this. ‘She’s been with some man she met at the pop festival. Some musician, I believe.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘I am.’ Mrs Chantry sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Rosa.’

‘But why did she tell Mark she was going to Scotland?’

‘I don’t know.’ Clearly her mother would have preferred not to go on with this. ‘To put us off the scent, I suppose. She knew I’d have worried if I’d known she was with some guitarist with a pop group. What with all the drug-taking that goes on and—’

‘But you were worried, Mum,’ Rosa reminded her. ‘My God, when you rang me last Saturday night you were practically hysterical.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t, Rosa. You’re exaggerating. Good heavens, we all know what Sophie’s like. She’s so impetuous!’

‘So irresponsible,’ muttered Rosa darkly. ‘Is she there? Put her on. I want to speak to her.’

‘You can’t.’ Before Rosa could argue, Mrs Chantry explained her reasons. ‘Mark called a little while ago, and she’s gone round to his house to try and patch things up with him.’

‘Well, he’s a fool if he believes anything she tells him,’ said Rosa irritably. For heaven’s sake, was she the only one in the family with a lick of sense? ‘I can’t believe you’re letting her get away with this. If it had been me at her age, I’d have been grounded for a month!’

‘Well, it’s no good me going on at her, Rosa,’ declared Mrs Chantry unhappily. ‘She’s going away to university soon enough, and if I play the heavy she’s not going to want to come home at all.’

‘Oh, Mum!’ Rosa groaned. ‘You can’t let her blackmail you. She ran off with a musician, a man she’d only just met, who she knew nothing about. He could have been a—a white slaver for all she knew.’

‘Oh, Rosa.’ Mrs Chantry gave a little laugh now. ‘White slaver, indeed!’ She waited a beat, and when Rosa didn’t say anything she added firmly, ‘Anyway, she’s learned her lesson. She says he dumped her when she refused to go to bed with him.’

And believe that if you will, thought Rosa cynically. But all she said was, ‘Did she tell you why she went with him in the first place?’

‘Oh, apparently he said he could introduce her to some people he knew in television,’ said her mother, relaxing a little now that she’d delivered her news. ‘She shouldn’t have believed him. I told her that.’

‘And where did Liam Jameson come in?’ asked Rosa shortly. ‘Or hasn’t she told you that?’

Her mother hesitated. ‘Oh—well, that might have been my fault.’

‘Your fault?’ Rosa was confused. ‘How could it be your fault?’

‘Well…’ Mrs Chantry was obviously searching for words. ‘I evidently jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No.’ Her mother sighed. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’ There was another pause, and then she said reluctantly, ‘Well, you know how much Sophie likes Liam Jameson’s books?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how she’d said how great it would be to star in one of his films?’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘No. No, I’m not.’ Mrs Chantry spoke indignantly. ‘She has said that. Heaps of times. And—and when Mark rang and said she’d run off to Scotland with some man she’d met at the pop festival—’

Rosa groaned. ‘I don’t believe this!’

‘It—it’s true.’ Her mother sniffed pathetically. ‘Mark did say that she’d told him that this man was going to introduce her to all the right people, and—’

‘And you put two and two together and made fifteen,’ said Rosa shortly. ‘Mum, why didn’t you tell me this before I left?’

‘Would you have gone if I had?’

No!

Rosa blew out a breath. ‘Possibly not.’

‘Probably not,’ declared her mother tersely. ‘I know you, Rosa. If you’d thought I was just clutching at straws, you’d never have approached Liam Jameson.’

And wasn’t that the truth? thought Rosa, an unpleasant little pain making itself felt in her temple. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said wearily, ‘I wish you’d told me just the same.’

‘And have you tell me what a stupid woman I am?’ demanded Mrs Chantry. ‘I thought you’d be glad to hear your sister was home, safe and sound. Instead all you can do is grumble about both of us!’

Rosa knew it was ridiculous. She was thirty-two, for goodness’ sake. But her eyes filled with tears at her mother’s harsh words. They were so unjustified, so unfair. She hadn’t complained, not really. But Sophie was totally selfish and her mother refused to see it.

‘I’d better go,’ she said, hoping the catch in her voice wasn’t audible to anyone else. ‘Mrs Ferguson’s probably waiting to use the phone.’

Which was unlikely, she conceded. Apart from this call, the phone hadn’t rung at all while she’d been in the guesthouse. Evidently people in Kilfoil tended to do their gossiping face to face.

‘All right.’ If Mrs Chantry suspected that the reason Rosa was ending the call was because she’d been a little unkind, she wasn’t prepared to admit it. ‘I’ll expect you when I see you, then. Take care.’

‘Bye.’

Rosa replaced the handset and scrubbed an impatient hand across her eyes. She was not going to cry, she told herself, even if the day had just gone from bad to worse. She had to focus on the future, on getting home to her little flat in Ripon, which suddenly seemed very far away. School would be starting again in a couple of weeks, and she had lessons to prepare before then.

Liam always stayed at the Moriarty Hotel when he was in London. It was a small, select establishment, known to only a few people, and they, like himself, reserved a suite of rooms year round, so that it was always available whenever it was needed.

It was one of the perks of being successful, he thought, as he drove south on the motorway. He could stay there completely anonymously, which suited him very well.

Not that he intended staying more than a couple of nights there on this visit. He was due to spend a few days at the Erskine Clinic in Knightsbridge, undergoing some further therapy on his leg.

Ever since August, when he’d been caught out in the storm because of the dogs, he’d been having an increasing amount of discomfort in his thigh. The local doctor thought he might have torn a ligament, and rather than wait for it to get better, which might not happen, Liam had been forced to seek relief.

Of course Sam thought he was crazy, driving to London. His opinion was that Liam should have used the helicopter. But helicopters tended to advertise one’s arrival, and that was the last thing Liam wanted to do.

He’d left Scotland behind a little while ago, and now he was some miles beyond Penrith, heading towards the service area at Tebay. He might stop there, he reflected. He could do with a cup of coffee and the opportunity to stretch his legs. And to look at the map, he conceded, not prepared to consider why he should need to do so. His route was familiar enough, goodness knew. South on the M6 as far as the M5. then east on the M40 until he reached the outskirts of London. What could be simpler?

He parked near the service buildings at Tebay and went inside to use the facilities and buy a coffee. Then he carried it back to the car and pulled his map out of the glove locker.

Less than a mile farther on there was a turn-off for Scotch Corner. Well, for Kirby Stephen initially, but it eventually intersected with the A66 east, which in turn intersected with the A1 at Scotch Corner. And about twenty miles south of Scotch Corner was the small Yorkshire market town of Ripon.

Ripon!

Liam swallowed a mouthful of his coffee, wincing at its bitter taste. Now, why would he want to know how to get to Ripon? Okay, he’d found out from Mrs Ferguson that that was where Rosa Chantry lived, but so what? It was nearly two months since he’d seen her, and after the way he’d behaved he doubted very much whether she’d want to see him again.

He didn’t even know why he was still thinking about her. He was too old to believe that their association had been anything more than a brief infatuation with sex. He’d wanted her, yes, but experience had taught him that you didn’t always get what you wanted. There was no doubt that she’d been horrified when she’d glimpsed the ugly patchwork beneath his shirt. And she hadn’t even seen the worst of it. It was a mercy he could still function as a man.

He tried to excuse his interest by telling himself he was concerned about her. Had she found her sister yet? Was she safe and well? Surely she must be. Despite searching the Internet, scanning every newspaper published in the Ripon area, he’d never read anything about a Sophie Chantry being missing. Wherever she was, she wasn’t making news, and that was usually a good sign.

For Rosa’s sake, he hoped so. He couldn’t believe that in this day and age, with all the publicity there was about the dangers of young girls going off with men they knew nothing about, her sister should have behaved so foolishly. She was either completely naïve or completely stupid. Remembering what Rosa had told him, he’d put his money on the latter.

He folded the map and put it back in the glove box, and then sat for a while drinking his coffee. What now? Was he going to get back on the motorway and drive directly to London, as he’d told Sam? Or was he going to make a detour to the north-east?

He considered. A glance at his watch told him it was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon in October. By his reckoning, it would be five o’clock before he reached Ripon, if that was where he intended to go. How did he know she’d be home from work? Or even alone? Was he willing to take the risk just to satisfy a whim he’d probably regret later? He knew the answer, and he tossed the empty cup into a rubbish bin. If he didn’t see Rosa again he’d never know how he really felt.

Happily, traffic was fairly light, and he arrived at the outskirts of Ripon soon after a quarter to five. There were plenty of cars heading out of town—probably commuters, making their way home, he decided. Now all he had to do was find someone who could tell him where Richmond Road was.

A policeman was patrolling the narrow street beside the cathedral, and although there were yellow lines warning him not to stop Liam pulled in beside him. Lowering the nearside window, he leant across the seat. ‘I’m looking for Richmond Road,’ he said ruefully. ‘You couldn’t help me, could you?’

The policeman looked as if he was about to point out that this was a no waiting area, but then seemed to take pity on him. ‘Richmond Road,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Yes.’ He turned. ‘You’ve just come past it. It’s that way, just off Winston Street.’

Liam stifled a curse. This was a one-way street, and he’d already discovered that the town centre was a maze of similar thoroughfares. How the hell was he supposed to retrace his steps?

‘It might be easier if you parked and walked back,’ suggested the policemen, apparently aware of his dilemma. ‘I could give you directions, but at this time of the afternoon—’

‘I understand.’

Liam gave a brief nod and rolled up the window again. Was he being a damn fool? he wondered, driving back into the market square. All this fuss, just to find a woman who might not even be willing to speak to him. He dreaded to think what Sam would say if he found out.

He eventually found a car park just off the market square. And, because most people were heading home, he had no problem in finding a space. Then, hauling his woollen overcoat out of the back seat, he locked the car and pocketed the keys, pushing his hands deep into his coat pockets as he trudged back towards the cathedral.

A bell tolled and he realised it was already half-past five. It had taken him longer to find her house than to drive from Scotch Corner to Ripon. And he still had about a five-hour journey ahead of him, if he was planning to reach London tonight.

Fortunately, it was a dry evening, though it was cold. The wind swept along these narrow streets, and his hip and leg became stiff and taut with pain. He should have stayed with the car, he thought. Walking any distance in his present state was madness. And all to see a woman he barely knew.

He found Richmond Road without much difficulty. It was a street of semi-detached houses, and it was still light enough for him to see number 24. He glanced at the note he’d stuffed in his pocket. It said number 24b. But there was no 24b. No 24a, either. Had she given Mrs Ferguson a false address?

He frowned. Then, deciding the only thing he could do was knock at number 24 and ask for directions again, he opened the front gate and walked up the path. That was when he saw the intercom pinned to the wall beside the door. It had been too dark for him to see it before. Evidently 24b was an apartment; likewise 24a.

He cast a glance at the windows. There were lights upstairs, so someone was home. But was that apartment 24a or 24b? He wouldn’t know until he rang the bell.

‘Yes?’

The voice that answered his summons was unmistakable. Liam disliked the way it danced along his nerves and curled its way around his heart. For God’s sake, what was the matter with him? Even Kayla had never made him feel like this.

‘Rosa?’ His voice was a little hoarse suddenly. ‘It’s me, Liam Jameson. May I come up?’

Silence. Liam wondered what he’d do if she refused to speak to him. Break down the door? Walk away? He hoped he didn’t have to make that decision.

‘Push the door,’ she said at last, and with a feeling of relief he heard the sound of the buzzer that released the latch.

Inside it was dark. He could just make out a hallway, leading to the back of the house, and a flight of stairs to the first floor.

As if she thought he might have some doubts about which apartment was hers, a light suddenly shone down from the top of the stairs. Rosa was standing on the landing above, looking down at him, and with a deep intake of air he closed the door and started up.

She looked different, he thought, and then realised she’d had her hair cut. Now it swung about her shoulders, still a fiery mass of curls, but softer, more feminine. She was wearing loose-fitting black trousers and a green blouse of some silky material that tipped off one shoulder as she moved. She looked good, he thought grimly. Too good to be spending the evening watching the television. Alone.

His leg stiffened as he mounted the stairs, and for a moment he couldn’t move. Hoping she wouldn’t notice, he said tightly, ‘Sorry if I’m intruding.’

Rosa frowned, and he was almost sure she was going to comment on his momentary paralysis. But then he was able to move his leg again, and she stepped back into the lighted doorway behind her. ‘You’re not intruding. Come in.’