doubted whether she could have carried it through, in all honesty.
As she'd sat beside the newly kindled turf fire, watching Flynn make
the preparations for the meal, she'd been pierced with hunger, her
mouth watering ravenously as the aroma of the grilling steak
reached her nostrils.
Every mouthful had been delicious, she thought wistfully,
remembering the buttery potatoes bursting from their jackets, and
the accompanying tomato salad.
'Thank you,' she said awkwardly. 'You—you're a very good cook.'
'I like food,' Flynn returned as he carried the dishes and crockery to
the sink. 'And I spend too much of my life being confronted by the
plastic variety.'
It was odd to think of him in planes and skyscraper office blocks,
she realised, and said so.
'You seem so at home here,' she added rather shyly.
'I am,' he said. 'Or I would be if Magda didn't insist on turning
Killane into some kind of three-ring circus. When I'm heart-sick of
trouble-shooting for corporations who can't get their sums right, I
dream sometimes of buying myself a place, which is mine and no
one else's, and breeding horses.'
'Does it have to stay a dream?'
'Probably.' He began to run water into the sink. 'When I was much
younger I had my future all mapped out—one long panorama of
boats and horses—even a suitable marriage. But nothing ever turns
out as you think it will. I was found to have this gift with figures,
antf shown the kind of success it could bring me. I'd have been
crazy not to go after it.'
'Do you still think so?'
He smiled faintly. 'The older you get, the more doubts you have,' he
said. 'But my chosen career has brought me most of the things
people want from life. I've travelled the world, and I've made more
money than I can ever hope to spend.' He shook his head. 'And if I
was in London or Paris at this moment, I wouldn't be talking like
this. It's when I come back to Killane that I start to ask myself
questions, and particularly when I'm here, in the place where I keep
what's left of my sanity.'
Sandie found herself listening with a kind of wonder. It was strange
to hear Flynn talk like this, without mockery or the aggression
which had marked so many of their previous encounters. He wasn't
like the same person at all, she thought, then caught at herself. But
he
was
the same—and worse. He'd treated her abominably from first
to last, and she couldn't allow herself to be beguiled into forgetting
that—or softening towards him in any way.
'Kidnapping me isn't a particularly sane thing to do,' she said
crossly.
'But remarkably effective, just the same: Don't panic, Alexandra.
You'll be delivered back in a few days, in one piece, with no ransom
demanded. I'm sorry there's no piano for you to play, but you can't
have everything.' He slanted a glance at her mutinous expression.
'And there's no way out until O'Flaherty comes back for us, so you
may as well relax and make the best of things, as I intend to.'
The best of things, she thought miserably. Until darkness actually
fell, she'd still entertained hopes that she'd be rescued. She'd even
entertained a momentary fantasy that Crispin might come sailing out
of the sunset to her aid, until common sense had reminded her how
impossible that was. No, as Flynn had prophesied, he was simply
glad to have her out of the way.
'I still don't know how you got away with this.' She glared at him.
'You couldn't have known I was going to come down to the
boathouse just then.'
'No, that was a piece of luck for me,' he said calmly. 'I was about to
come and find you—invite you out on to the water.'
'But there was no guarantee I'd have agreed to come. What if I'd
refused?'
'I'd have persuaded you,' he said, and smiled at her. 'One way or the
other.'
'You mean strong-arm tactics, I suppose,' Sandie said with
contempt.
'If all else failed,' he agreed casually. 'But I knew it wouldn't come
to that. You'd been disappointed in love, after all, and left to kick
your heels all day. Even if Francesca had taken my advice, and
stayed away until tomorrow, you were ripe for a little adventure.'
She said shakily, 'Well, I got that all right.' She paused. 'But you
haven't considered all the snags. I'm sure you've brought plenty of
food, but that isn't everything. We could be here for days, and I only
have the clothes I'm wearing.'
'I've thought of that too.' Flynn pointed to one of the canvas bags.
'You'll find a selection of your own gear in there. And before you
start accusing me of raping your wardrobe, let me tell you Jessica
picked the stuff out, not myself.'
'Jessica did? You mean she was in on this too? Oh God, I don't
believe it! And I suppose the twins helped bring it all down to the
boat.'
He laughed. 'No, although I dare say they would have if I'd asked
them.'
'I didn't realise they all hated me so much,' she said bitterly.
Flynn gave her a surprised look. 'They don't,' he said. 'And why
should they?'
'Because they helped you, even O'Flaherty. They let you do this to
me.'
'But it wasn't through dislike of you,' he said quite gently. 'It's just
that they're fond of Francesca. She's his wife, after all, and you're
the other woman in this little scenario. We may seem an eccentric
crowd, God knows, but this is a conventional part of the world, and
they're bound to be prejudiced.'
'But I'm not the other woman,' she said wearily. 'Crispin offered me
a chance to develop my music, just when I'd lost all hope, that was
all. He was going to coach me, and in return I was going to be your
mother's temporary accompanist. It was a business arrangement. I—
I didn't know he was married. He never mentioned it...'
'I'm sure he didn't,' Flynn said ironically. 'And of course you weren't
the slightest bit flattered or excited by all this attention from the
famous Crispin Sinclair. And if he'd had one eye, a hump, and a
hare lip it wouldn't have made the least difference, either.' He
paused. 'Not to mention that you're the image of his wife.'
'Of course I was flattered,' Sandie said in a low voice. 'I wouldn't
have been human otherwise.' She swallowed. 'But I didn't have the
least idea about Francesca. I wasn't aware that she existed—let alone
that we were the image of each other.' She shook her head. 'Yes, I
found Crispin attractive. Naturally I did. I didn't know it was a
crime.'
'Nor is it.' His voice gentled a little. 'The truth is, Alexandra, you
were in too deep before you ever got here. You arrived to a situation
you'd no notion of, and you wouldn't listen to a soul who tried to
warn you.'
'Well, I'm paying for it now,' she said. 'You'll be delighted to hear I
wish I'd never set eyes on Killane— or any of the people in it. I feel
such an utter fool. I don't know how I'm going to face any of them
again.'
'Well, for the time being, you won't have to,' Flynn said briskly.
'And everyone's entitled to make a fool of themselves once' in a
lifetime. The trick's to avoid repeating the performance.'
'I suppose so.' She bit her lip. 'And now, if it's possible to have some
privacy I'd like to go to bed. I've got a terrible headache.'
'There's aspirin and stuff in that drawer over there. Help yourself to
whatever you need.' He paused. 'Shall I open the bed for you?'
'I can manage.'
'As you wish, I like to go for a walk before I turn in, so you'll have
the place to yourself entirely for the next hour. I'll come in quietly
so as not to disturb you.'
'Thank you,' she said icily. 'You're all consideration.'
'But I need not be,' he said. 'This is as great a hardship for me as it is
for you, Alexandra, so don't forget that, and push me too far. The
only way we'll get through the next few days unscathed is if we both
, make a genuine effort to get on with each other. Goodnight.'
Sandie watched his tall figure walk through the door and out into the
darkness.
Reluctantly she fetched the canvas bag, and checked the contents.
Jessica, it seemed, had thought of everything. She took her toilet bag
and towel, and went through the bedroom to the bathroom which
had been built on to it. It was small, but functional.
She washed hastily, and got into nightdress and dressing gown.
Flynn had said an hour, but how could she trust any of his promises?
On her way back to the living-room she paused, looking enviously
at the low, wide bed, with its clean line, duvet and fat, comfortable
pillows which he would be occupying.
And I have to make do on that folding thing, she thought
wretchedly. The age of chivalry really is over!
Her headache was getting worse by the moment. In fact she felt
aches and pains in every muscle and joint, and struggling with the
bed didn't improve her general malaise.
She placed the aired sleeping bag on the mattress and climbed into
it, zipping it up to her chin, then lay staring at the glow of the turf
fire. She was alone here with Flynn, in the middle of nowhere, and
she felt terrible.
Magda wished this cold on me, she thought miserably, and felt tears
pricking at her eyelids.
The cottage was making small, settling noises, and outside in the
stillness, a bird called forlornly.
Sandie had never felt so isolated—so afraid. She could almost be
grateful that Flynn had not adhered to his plan of just abandoning
her here on her own.
But where was he? She squinted at her watch, and saw to her
amazement that only about fifteen minutes had passed since he'd
left. If time was going to pass as slowly as this, then the next few
days were going to prove an eternity.
The first scalding drops of water began to trickle down her face, and
she scrubbed them away fiercely with her fists. Flynn was not going
to come back and find her weeping like a baby.
She had to think positively. Everything would be different
tomorrow, and Crispin would come to fetch her. Whatever his
motivation for bringing her to Killane., and even if he didn't care for
her in the way she'd naively hoped, he was still responsible for
her— and he wouldn't just leave her there.
My headache will be better too tomorrow, she assured herself, and I
won't feel so totally grotty.
She tensed in every muscle as she heard the scrape of the latch, and
lay very still, with her back to the door, and her eyes so tightly shut
they were almost painful.
He came in as quietly as he'd promised, but she was conscious of
every careful movement he made. Desperately aware that instead of
going straight to his room, he had come to her side, and was
standing there in the dying firelight looking down at her.
He said very softly, 'Alexandra?'
Her teeth sank sharply into the softness of her lower lips. She forced
herself to remain motionless, to deepen her breathing in imitation of
sleep, until, after some endless time, she heard him go, and she was
alone.
She relaxed with agonising slowness, feeling her heartbeat pounding
against her ribs. Because for a moment—a few brief seconds—she'd
been tempted to respond—to speak—to turn to him.
And that was dangerous. That was the last thing in the world she
should do. And Flynn was the last man in the world...
She pressed her clenched fist against her trembling lips. Tomorrow,
she thought. Please let help come tomorrow—before it's too late.
THE TURF FIRE was blazing, and Flynn was building it higher and
higher. And she was trapped here in this bed, unable to escape from
the intense heat.
Sandie moaned feebly, flailing around inside the imprisoning
sleeping beg, which was pressing on every inch of her skin, hurting
her. Oh God, she ached all over, everywhere, and her head was the
worst.
From some immense distance she heard Flynn say curtly, 'What's
the matter?' Then, 'Good God, girl, you're burning up!'
'I know.' Her voice emerged as a hoarse croak. 'It's the fire. Please
put out the fire.'
'It's been out for hours. Easy now.' She felt herself lifted, sleeping
bag and all, and carried. She wanted to protest, but it was so much
simpler to turn her heated face into the cool bare skin of Flynn's