The nurse she had met previously took her straight to Evie’s room.
‘How is she?’ Tarn asked, and the other woman pulled a face.
‘Yesterday did her no good at all, but it couldn’t be avoided, and it probably won’t be the last time. But it may cheer her up to see a friendly face.’
Evie was crouched in her chair, wan and red-eyed, nursing a box of tissues.
‘Tarn.’ She straightened. ‘Oh, Tarn, it’s been so awful. I’m so scared. You have to do something. You have to keep him away from me.’
‘Yes.’ Tarn pulled the other chair up beside her, and sat, taking her hand. ‘I’ll do my best, I promise, so try not to think about it. About him.’
‘I thought I was safe here.’ Evie swallowed. ‘That he wouldn’t know where I was.’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘I wasn’t going to tell anyone about him—what he did. Truly I wasn’t. He ought to know that. He seemed so kind, as if he wanted to look after me. I never realised what he was really like.’
‘No, of course not,’ Tarn said gently. ‘Why should you?’
After all, I knew, she thought, and it made no difference. I still wanted him in spite of everything. So how can I blame you when I really ought to be disgusted with myself?
Tarn dragged herself back to the here and now. ‘Evie—what actually happened yesterday? What was said?’
‘I can’t talk about it. I’m not allowed to. And, anyway, I’m sick of questions. I won’t answer any more.’ She began to cry weakly. ‘I just want to get out of here. I know I’ve been a fool, but I don’t see why I should go on being punished like this. You have to do something, Tarn. You have to take me home.’
Easier said than done, Tarn thought as she sat on the train back to London. Evie had continued in much the same vein for the entire visit, alternating recrimination with bouts of self-pity. Tarn had done her best to make her think more positively about the future, talking of new jobs and a possible holiday in the sun, and being careful not to mention Caz by name, but her foster sister had just stared at her, wounded, and told her she didn’t understand.
It was almost a relief when the nurse appeared and said that visiting time was up.
‘I’ll deal with him, Evie,’ Tarn said softly, as she rose to her feet. ‘When I’ve finished, he won’t bother you again.’
‘And tell them I won’t answer any more questions,’ Evie called after her, her voice sullen.
I won’t be telling ‘them’ anything, thought Tarn. Whoever ‘they’ were.
She sighed to herself. If she was honest, she could see no prospect of an early release for Evie. From what the younger girl had said, she was still confined to her room. Yet the other residents seemed to move round the house and gardens easily enough, under the watchful eyes of the staff, and the big board in the hall was crammed with notices about the various activity groups on offer. Surely joining with other people and finding new interests would contribute towards Evie’s rehabilitation.
Whereas being made to confront her erstwhile fiancé would not. Especially as it seemed he might be exerting pressure on her to keep quiet about their relationship. And what were these so-called experts like the Professor thinking of to allow it?
Couldn’t Caz see the state she was in? Tarn railed inwardly. Did he truly have no compassion or sense of guilt over the havoc he’d created in the life of someone who’d simply been too trusting and gullible for her own good?
And how, she asked herself almost helplessly, is it possible for him to be so different with me? Unless, of course, he’s simply biding his time. Waiting until he’s tired of me too.
And felt her whole body clench, as if warding off unbearable pain.
As she walked into the flat, the telephone was ringing.
‘I heard you’d gone home sick,’ Caz said. ‘I was worried.’
Tarn took a deep breath. Steadied her voice. ‘It was just a headache. It’s gone now.’
‘Then would you be free for dinner tonight—if I promise not to mention anything stressful?’ There was a smile in his voice.
Tarn had the strange sensation that she was teetering on the edge of an abyss.
But it’s not too late, she told herself desperately. Even now she could save herself. Step back to safety or…
Instead, she heard herself say huskily, ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, Caz. And we can talk about anything you want.’
And threw herself into the waiting void.
HE TOOK her to the Trattoria Giuliana, as he said, ‘For old times’ sake.’ They even had the same table as before.
As they sat down, he looked at her, his smile faintly rueful. ‘Or am I being overly sentimental?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely idea. I always hoped we’d come back here sometime.’
‘Then why not make it a regular date,’ he said, the hazel eyes caressing her. ‘For the rest of our lives.’ Then checked. ‘But perhaps I’m being too optimistic. After all, I haven’t had your answer yet.’
Tarn stared down at the tablecloth. ‘I think you know what I’m going to say already.’ And wondered how she could possibly sound so quiet and steady with the maelstrom of emotions raging within her.
‘Or else you wouldn’t be with me tonight?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But I suppose I could be coy, and say I was still making up my mind.’
‘You could.’ His hand reached for hers across the table. ‘But you won’t. Will you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I won’t.’ In spite of herself, the warm clasp of his fingers round hers was sending tendrils of sensation throughout her entire being. She paused, looking at him, and allowing her lips to part a little as if she was breathless. Except, she realised with shame, she did not have to pretend, because his lightest touch could do that to her. ‘I—I will marry you, Caz. If you still want me.’
He said softly, ‘More than I’ve ever wanted anything, my darling.’ He signalled, and a beaming waiter arrived with champagne.
‘My goodness.’ She managed a laugh. ‘You really were sure of yourself.’
‘Not in the slightest.’ He studied her for a moment, his expression quizzical. ‘There’s an elusiveness about you, Tarn. As I’ve said, I sensed it from the beginning. I’m wondering if it might not be wise to chain you to my wrist until we’re safely married.’
He was too damned perceptive by half, Tarn thought. She raised her eyebrows. ‘You regard marriage as safety? I thought it was an act of faith—a step into the dark.’
