One Summer At The Castle: Stay Through the Night / A Stormy Spanish Summer / Behind Palace Doors. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.’
‘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.’