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‘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.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_8d9d5d76-8a09-5d2e-90b1-9dbb4caf4303)
‘THANKS.’
Liam was very relieved to reach the landing. He didn’t think he could have climbed another step, and he was already wondering how the hell he was going to get back to where he’d left his car. Perhaps he could call a cab? One thing was for sure: he didn’t think he could walk all that way again tonight.
Meanwhile, Rosa was wondering what he was doing here. She tried to tell herself it could have nothing to do with what had happened before she left the castle, yet what else could it be?
He must have got her address from Mrs Ferguson. She could imagine that lady’s surprise at such a request. She must have wondered why he hadn’t contacted his publisher. Unless, for some reason, he’d told her the truth.
Her eyes darted about the room as he entered, trying to see it through his eyes. It was a comfortable room, a through dining and sitting room combined. But it was shabby, and nothing like the luxurious apartments he was used to.
She snatched up a discarded pair of tights she’d left draped over one of the dining chairs, and removed a magazine from the chenille couch. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she invited, aware of the laboured way he’d climbed the stairs. ‘You look—tired.’
‘Don’t you mean beat?’ suggested Liam drily, but he did subside onto the couch with some relief. ‘I’m a bit stiff, that’s all. I’ve been driving since early this morning.’
Rosa’s eyes widened. ‘But it’s Tuesday!’
‘So?’
‘I thought the ferry only ran on Mondays and Thursdays.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, of course. You probably used your helicopter?’
Liam slanted a glance up at her. ‘How did you know I had a helicopter?’
Rosa straightened. ‘Mrs Ferguson told me.’ She paused. ‘When—when I was stranded on the island, she suggested asking you if you could help.’
‘Ah.’ Liam nodded. ‘The kindly Mrs Ferguson.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I spent last night at Jack Macleod’s.’
‘Who?’ Rosa had never heard of Jack Macleod.
‘The man you saw me talking to that morning we took the ferry to Kilfoil,’ he reminded her, resting back against the cushions and pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. ‘Or am I the only one who remembers that?’
Rosa moistened her lips. ‘No. No, I remember,’ she said defensively. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’
‘A good friend,’ agreed Liam. ‘He lives in Mallaig, and when I first bought the island he offered to put me in touch with the people I needed to renovate the castle and the cottages. His grandparents used to live on Kilfoil, and he was a great help. We’ve remained friends ever since.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Rosa absorbed this. Then, ‘I suppose Mrs Ferguson gave you my address?’
‘She did.’ Liam regarded her from beneath lashes any woman would have died for. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Why should I mind?’ Rosa realised she was still holding the magazine and the tights she’d picked up when he arrived. With an absent gesture, she crossed the room to dispose of them into a drawer before turning down the gas fire. The room seemed overly hot suddenly, and with her back to him she added, ‘Can I get you anything? A drink?’
‘A beer would be good,’ he said, not really wanting anything at this moment. The pain in his leg was just beginning to subside, and the last thing he wanted was to have to walk on it again. ‘Um—did you find your sister?’
Rosa straightened and turned to him, the blouse sliding off her shoulder again to reveal the black strap of her bra. ‘She was here when I got back,’ she confessed wryly. ‘She’d been in London all along.’
‘London?’ Liam was briefly diverted. ‘What the hell was she doing in London?’
‘Making out with a musician she met at the pop festival,’ replied Rosa, with a grimace. ‘He apparently dumped her when she refused to sleep with him.’
Liam looked doubtful at this, and Rosa had to continue. ‘I know. Incredible, isn’t it? But my mother believes everything she says.’ She sighed. ‘Sophie can wrap her round her little finger.’
Liam stared at her. ‘So where did I come in?’
‘Oh—’ Rosa’s cheeks reddened. ‘That was my mother’s fault. When Mark—he’s Sophie’s boyfriend—phoned her to tell her Sophie had gone to Scotland with some man who was going to help her get into the movies, she immediately thought of you.’
‘Why, for God’s sake?’
‘Well, like I told you, Sophie’s always been such a fan of yours. I suppose she needed something to focus on, and you were it.’
‘So it was your mother who sent you to Kilfoil?’
‘Mmm.’ Rosa nodded. ‘But Sophie had said she was going to Scotland. That part was true.’
Liam shook his head in disbelief. ‘Dare I ask why?’
‘To put us off the scent?’ Rosa shrugged. ‘Looking back, I must have been a fool to believe anything my mother said. But she is half Italian, and she was practically hysterical when she phoned me.’ She pulled a rueful face. ‘Now—a beer.’ She started towards the kitchen. ‘Is that all?’
Not nearly, thought Liam, but he assured her that it was, watching as she went into the adjoining room. She walked quickly, and he realised she was nervous. He wondered why. Was she expecting someone else. A man, maybe?
That thought irritated him beyond reason. God, he couldn’t believe how much he’d wanted to see her again. It added to the sense of impatience he was feeling at his own weakness. Dammit, he hadn’t come here for her sympathy. He’d wanted to test her, but not in this way.
Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself to his feet again and made his way across the floor to the open doorway. Then, propping his shoulder against the jamb, he said, ‘Do you live alone?’
Rosa jumped. Having acknowledged how tired he was, she’d expected him to stay on the couch. She’d already extracted a bottle of beer from the fridge, and had been about to decant it into a glass, but his appearance had startled her.
‘Um—yes,’ she said, concentrating on unscrewing the cap. However, when she would have poured it into the tumbler she’d taken from the cupboard, Liam stopped her.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll drink it from the bottle.’
Rosa looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ he said, holding out his hand, and with a shrug she passed the bottle to him.
He didn’t move from the doorway, however, and she found herself watching as he carried the bottle to his lips and took a hearty swallow.
The muscles in his throat moved as he drank, the mark she’d seen when she was at the castle the only pale scar on flesh that was both brown and supple. And, just watching him, she felt again the flicker of desire—of awareness—that had been so unfamiliar to her until she’d met him.
Liam lowered the bottle suddenly, and turned to look at her. And, just like that, her limbs turned to jelly. It took an actual physical effort to look away from those jade-green eyes and say, albeit a little breathlessly, ‘Why don’t you go and sit down again? You can’t enjoy anything standing up.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Liam provocatively, setting the bottle down on the unit beside him and holding out his hand. ‘Come here.’
Rosa swallowed. ‘Do you need some help getting—’
‘No!’ he exploded angrily. ‘I don’t need your help. Not in that way, anyway.’ He gave her an exasperated look. ‘Just come here, will you?’
Rosa hesitated, but eventually she left the support of the fridge behind and approached him. ‘Now what?’
‘Like you don’t know,’ he retorted softly, catching her wrist and bringing its sensitive network of veins to his mouth. ‘Kiss me.’
Rosa’s breathing faltered. ‘Liam—’
‘Just do it, dammit,’ he demanded harshly, and without another word she stepped closer and reached up to brush his lips with hers.
Liam gave a frustrated snort. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ He used his free hand to trace the shape of her jawline, allowing his fingers to move into the fiery glory of her hair. ‘Kiss me, Rosa. Like you mean it. I didn’t drive all this way just so you could give me a beer.’
‘So why did you?’ Rosa looked up into his strong face, resisting the urge to brush her own fingers across his lips. ‘Drive all this way, I mean?’
Liam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Guess.’
Rosa took a breath. ‘Because you wanted to see me?’
Liam’s expression was sardonic. ‘Gee, you have a real way with words.’
