a bracelet sliding down her arm when she was holding the ice-pack.
What he saw now was the single charm, a silver heart. It was engraved with a message, tiny words that he knew were none of his business, but as he moved back the angle of the light changed and the words seemed to leap out at him—‘…forget and smile…’
He knew it from somewhere and he searched the shelves for a dictionary of quotations, finally found the couplet.
And he felt…something.
He’d shut out every emotion, every feeling for so long that he couldn’t say what it was. Only that it hurt. That if he didn’t blot it out the pain would become unbearable.
But then he’d recognised the danger the moment she’d jammed her foot in his door and refused to be shut out. He’d tried, but unlike most people, she seemed immune to his rudeness. It was almost, he thought, as if she understood what he was doing.
Ridiculous, of course. She didn’t know him or anything about him.
Yet she’d found a way into his house, into his life and he was afraid that she wouldn’t be content until she’d prised open the armour plating he’d donned to keep out the prurient, the intrusive, those seekers after the second-hand shiver of horror who’d demand every last detail if he weakened, let down the barrier…
Right now that seemed the least of his worries. The outside world he could keep at bay. It was what was locked up inside him that he couldn’t face.
Reeling away from the sofa, he took a biography from the shelves and settled into an armchair. Reading, watching. Watching…
Jacqui stirred. Winced as her forehead came in contact with the side of the sofa. Remembered. And risked opening her eyes.
The logs had burned down to a hot, almost translucent glow. The shaggy hound, who she was sure had no business in the library, was stretched out in blissful slumber in front of it. She gingerly felt for the damage to her scalp. It was tender, although the prophesied lump was barely noticeable, and, having decided that she’d survive, she eased herself carefully upright, taking care not to make any sudden moves. And that was when she saw that it was not just the dog who’d kept her company.
Harry Talbot was sitting in a high-backed armchair set to one side of the hearth. He’d been reading, but the book had fallen to the floor and he was fast asleep.
Most people—and she included herself in that ‘most’—looked slightly undefined in sleep; the curve of cheek and chin sagging a little as flesh succumbed to gravity. But there was no softness in Harry’s pared-to-the-bone features.
The difference was not in the letting go of muscle tone, but the absence of tension.
The strain had gone from his face and the change was such that she finally understood that it wasn’t her, or Maisie, he was battling to keep out with his rudeness. It was the entire world.
She didn’t disturb him, but instead tucked up her feet and, easing up the down-soft cushion that had been pillowed beneath her, curled up against the high side of the sofa.
The dog raised his head hopefully, but she put a finger to her lips and whispered, ‘Lie down.’
Maybe he understood, or maybe he was smart enough to realise that, since she was staying put, he had nothing to gain—and a warm place in front of the fire to lose—if he moved and disturbed the sleeping man. But he dropped his chin back onto his paws, rolled his eyes up at Harry and sighed.
Like Maisie, he was another soul yearning for a kind word, a tender touch from the object of adoration.
The thought took her somewhat by surprise. Why would Maisie yearn for attention from Harry? If he really had a problem with her adoption? Had there been something shady about that? He’d implied he knew about such things.
Yet that awkward, slightly aggressive way Maisie talked about him, acted around him, bore all the hallmarks of an unspoken need to be noticed, loved.
‘Penny for them?’
She jumped, dragged out of her thoughts by Harry’s voice.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. How’s the head?’
‘OK. A bit tender where I caught the corner of the desk, but actually—’ she smiled, although the nod that went with it might have been a mistake ‘—not bad. You looked as though you needed the sleep, too.’
He bent, picked up the book and rose to his feet. ‘Just resting my eyes,’ he said, dismissing her concern as he returned it to the shelves.
There had been a moment when, still drowsy, he’d forgotten the mask, but it was back in place now. She wouldn’t be fooled by it though; he could be as grouchy as he liked, she had his number. Quite what she was going to do with it was another matter.
‘I’m ready for that cup of tea now,’ she said, unwinding, carefully, from the sofa. Or she would be once she’d used the bathroom. ‘Can I make one for you?’ Then, as she spotted the tea tray set for two, ‘Oh.’ She reached out and touched the pot. It was stone cold. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
He checked his watch. ‘A couple of hours. You will let me know if you feel nauseous?’
‘You think I went to sleep because I have concussion? Nothing that exciting, I promise you. I was just tired. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
Cue apology for low-status bedroom, query re mattress, general concern of host over comfort…
Clearly he needed a prompt. ‘Please, don’t apologise. Really. The bed was fine. I was just worrying about Maisie.’ Then, since that didn’t stir him to remorse, ‘Have you checked to see if the phones are back on?’
‘Not lately,’ he admitted. ‘Help yourself.’
He indicated a phone on a small writing desk standing by the window.
Unlike its more workmanlike counterpart in the office, this was free of all clutter and contained only a slender laptop computer and telephone. She lifted the receiver. There was no dial tone, but the dog, sensing the possibility of action, came across and then, when she didn’t move, began snuffling beneath the desk, rattling something against the skirting board.
Glancing behind the desk to see what he’d got, she realised that it was the phone jack. It wasn’t plugged into its socket, but was lying on the floor.
About to tell Harry, she caught sight of Susan and Maisie, in her ridiculous combination of frilly frock and rubber boots, hand-feeding carrots to a couple of donkeys who were leaning over the stone wall that divided the driveway to the house from a field, and, in a sudden flash of understanding, knew what had happened.
Maisie. She had done this. Gone round the house quietly disconnecting the phones. Hidden her cellphone. Just to gain a little time.
Was she really that desperate to stay?
‘Well?’ Harry asked.
She jumped at the nearness of his voice and practically collided with him as she swivelled round to block him from seeing what Maisie had done.
For
