as they began the drive to the house, grateful for the self-discipline she had learnt from her writing, needing mental as well as physical control to maintain the daily schedule of work she set for herself in order to meet her deadlines. It would have been so easy to have sat back and lived on Ricky’s wealth, to have treated her writing as a mere hobby to keep herself amused. But she hadn’t wanted that, had made it into a career. She felt an inner peace now that she had.
God, why was she wandering in this way! They would be at Falconer House soon, the scene of her greatest happiness, greatest humiliation, and finally her greatest pain.
It was a huge house, big enough for several families to live in comfortably, but she still didn’t know how she had managed to live there for two years after her marriage to Ricky, didn’t know how she was going to visit there now. Because visiting was all she intended doing. She couldn’t stay on there, not even if Lyon asked her to do so. And she knew that he was going to ask her to do just that, that it probably wouldn’t even be a request but an order. It was one she would enjoy disobeying!
‘GOOD GRIEF, Matthew!’ Shay’s exclamation was instantaneous on seeing him. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’ She looked askance at the sling supporting his immobile arm.
The awkwardness she had envisaged upon entering the Falconer house again was forgotten in her concern for Matthew. His wheelchair had moved silently across the hall carpet as he came to meet them in the entrance hall, Shay shocked to see how pale he was, almost as white as the bandage on his arm beneath the sling.
Matthew Falconer had been in a wheelchair when she had first been introduced to him six years before, an explanation for his incapacity never offered by any of his family, although she had heard from the office grapevine when she still worked for Lyon that Matthew had been injured in a skiing accident at the age of nineteen, his legs severely damaged, and had been in a wheelchair ever since.
She had also learnt, from experience, that Matthew’s inability to walk in no way detracted from his masculinity, or his ability to put a person in their place with a few well-directed words! After a few minutes of being in Matthew’s dynamic presence people tended to forget he was in a wheelchair, the electronically-operated machine having so many gadgets on it he could perform practically anything an able-bodied man could do—except, of course, walk.
‘Can’t you think of a better greeting than that after all this time, Gypsy?’ he drawled wryly, pain having etched lines into his handsome face over the years that shouldn’t really have been there on a man of only thirty-five.
Gypsy. It was a long time since she had heard that particular nickname, two long heart-breaking months! The three younger Falconer men had taken the space of one afternoon to come up with the name Gypsy for her; Lyon had instantly hated it, refusing to call her it. But Ricky had continued to use the name after they were married, and hearing it now brought tears to her eyes.
‘Matthew.’ She bent and kissed him warmly on one rigidly hard cheek.
He managed a tight-lipped smile. ‘You always were an affectionate little thing,’ he muttered. ‘Too affectionate on occasion.’ He shot a sly glance at the stone-faced Lyon.
She had forgotten Matthew’s cryptic, sometimes cruel, sense of humour, holding back her own smile with effort; one thing the Falconer men could never be attributed with was tact!
Matthew turned fully to his older brother. ‘The two of you came back alone?’
Shay turned in time to see Lyon’s warning look, instantly feeling a ripple of apprehension down the straightness of her spine. Lyon was displeased with his brother for asking the question, and she had a feeling she was the reason for his annoyance with Matthew.
‘Yes,’ he replied tersely, dismissively. ‘What happened to your arm, Matthew?’
The younger man shrugged. ‘The controls of this stupid machine went haywire for a while and I hit the ground,’ he told them with self-derision. ‘It’s nothing serious, just a sprain.’
‘You didn’t mention it when I telephoned yesterday,’ Lyon scowled.
‘I said it’s only a sprain,’ Matthew bit out tautly. ‘I’m in a wheelchair, Lyon, not senile! I don’t need you fussing over me like an old woman every time I accidently cut myself shaving!’ He looked at the older man challengingly.
Who would eventually have won the silent battle of wills Shay wasn’t sure; Lyon was obviously the stronger-willed of the two, but Matthew had his pride on his side. Even feeling the interloper, as she did, she couldn’t let the senseless battle go on.
‘Could I have a cup of tea, do you think?’ She cut across their tension. ‘I’m feeling a little weary.’ Her eyes hardened as she looked at Lyon. ‘I think you might be better having coffee,’ she told him with sarcasm. ‘A whole pot of it!’ she added before strolling through to what she knew was the main family lounge, the décor different from what she remembered, in green and cream now, but otherwise the room was just as elegantly comfortable as she remembered it.
Matthew was still chuckling as he followed her into her room. ‘Been drinking, has he?’ he mused.
‘Just a little,’ Shay drawled.
‘You always did have a strange effect on my big brother.’ He grinned his satisfaction with the fact.
‘I don’t care to be discussed as if I weren’t present.’ Lyon strode across the room to pour himself a glass of whisky from the cut-glass decanter.
‘Oh, we know you’re here,’ Matthew taunted. ‘But what about Neil?’
Lyon’s mouth compressed into a thin line as he turned and rang for the maid. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow,’ he supplied abruptly, turning to the young woman who entered the room so that he could order Shay’s tea.
Once again Shay had sensed Lyon’s reluctance to discuss Neil in front of her. ‘Is Neil away?’ she probed softly.
Matthew gave Lyon a censorious look. ‘You haven’t told her?’
‘Obviously not,’ he drawled. ‘For God’s sake, Matthew,’ he scowled belligerently. ‘It isn’t the sort of thing you just blurt out in the middle of a flight that Shay was already finding such a strain!’
‘Hell, Lyon, you’ve been in Los Angeles almost three weeks,’ Matthew criticised.
‘During which Shay flatly refused to see me,’ Lyon rasped harshly.
Shay felt no regret for that decision, had no desire to spend any more time in his company than she needed to. ‘Where is Neil?’ she asked tautly. ‘Has he been hurt in some way? God, he isn’t dead too …?’ She gasped as that horrific thought occurred to her.
‘No, of course he isn’t dead,’ Lyon snapped. ‘Your fertile imagination is running riot!’
‘Then why won’t you tell me where he is?’ she demanded impatiently. ‘Why all the secrecy?’
‘Because he’s in Los Angeles,’ Lyon muttered.
‘Los
