The Pleasures of Spring (33 page)

Andy sat back in his chair, unsure where the conversation was leading.

‘I got a call last night saying that he’d had a bit too much to drink in the Crown and would I pick him up at the station.’

‘And?’ he prompted. Tullamore was a three-hour drive away and he had to pack.

‘He was celebrating a deal he had made with a red-haired girl who pawned a ring for half of what it was worth.’

Andy swallowed. She wouldn’t have. Roz couldn’t have.

‘An antique sapphire ring which you might recognize, seeing as your name and credit card number is on the receipt.’

‘How much did she …?’ He couldn’t say pawn. The word refused to come out of his mouth. Roz had sold the ring. His ring. Their engagement ring.

‘Ten thousand pounds.’ Smyth continued with a pleased smile on his face. ‘It would appear from her actions that the lady has chosen to vanish.’

The rest of the inspector’s words washed over him. She had left him for good and she wasn’t coming back. His usual calm in the face of fire deserted him. Roz had pawned the ring and she had plenty of contacts in the underworld. With that kind of money she could buy a new ID and disappear for good. How the fuck had he ever believed that he knew anything about women?
You complete and utter muppet, McTavish
.

‘– and do you wish to report the ring as being stolen?’ The inspector’s words caught his attention and he zoned back into the conversation.

Andy cleared his throat. ‘No. That’s okay, but can you ask him to hold onto it? I’ll redeem it myself.’

‘Of course, sir. Anything to help.’

The journey to Tullamore was wet and miserable, what his father would have described as a ‘soft’ day. Andy took the turn-off for the castle and headed up the rutted driveway. He parked near costume and make-up and grabbed a woollen robe from the rail.

‘I didn’t know you were back.’ The bubbly blonde smiled at him.

Andy glanced in the mirror. He’d hardly need make-up, and as he hadn’t shaved for more than a day, he would fit right in with the rest of the peasants.

‘Yeah, I got a call for a crowd scene,’ he said. ‘You know what a perfectionist Benny is.’

The girl nodded sympathetically before turning to her next client, a heavily bearded Viking invader.

Andy took a path through the ancient woods surrounding Charleville Castle. The forest was knee deep in
bluebells at this time of year, their delicate floral scent contrasting with their vibrant appearance. The colour reminded him of her eyes. Damn, he was getting maudlin.

He reached the clearing near the castle and found Frankie’s caravan. It was empty, but his weapons were there. Andy decided to wait. He used the time to search every inch of the place, but there was nothing to suggest that Roz was staying with him. His heart pounded when he found a few items of lingerie in the tiny bathroom, but the labels were American. What was Frankie up to and with whom? The sound of voices outside drew his attention and he took a seat on the couch.

Andy almost didn’t recognize him. The man had aged in the few weeks since he’d last seen him. He was thinner and favoured his right leg when he walked. Andy felt a grudging respect for the older man. He had faced off Hall to allow them to escape.

Frankie didn’t seem surprised to see him. ‘She’s not here.’

‘I can see that. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me where she is?’

‘You suppose right,’ Frankie replied with a half grin.

‘But you have seen her?’ Andy pushed. He needed to know that Roz wasn’t in any immediate danger.

A flicker of sympathy crossed Frankie’s face. ‘She’s safe for now, if that’s any comfort.’

‘Thank you for that much. Will you be seeing her anytime soon?’

The half-smile turned into a genuine grin. ‘If you mean is it worth your while hanging about here, getting under
my feet, waiting for her to turn up? Then, no, she’s not coming back here.’

Andy nodded. ‘Fine.’

Frankie was telling the truth. He was back to square one and his leads were rapidly vanishing. He was outside in the rain again before Frankie called after him.

‘Don’t worry about the girl. Roz is used to taking care of herself.’

He was right, but her idea of taking care of herself was relying on her wits and trusting no one. No wonder Roz was messed up. He gave Frankie a curt nod.

‘I know, but she shouldn’t have to.’

Time lost all meaning for Roz. The combination of loneliness, sorrow, back-breaking work and sore muscles had effectively deleted her calendar. She dragged herself from day to day, and gave thanks if the day had been hard enough to help her sleep at night.

She had arrived at the dude ranch before dark a few weeks ago. Patrick O’Hara and his wife Suzanne had been welcoming but, conscious of the number of people who were hunting her, Roz was reluctant to be drawn into their warm circle.

She had watched them bed Nagsy down in a spacious stable and had helped them brush him and make him comfortable. He had coped with the long ride better than she had. Her thighs were chafed and stiff, and she thought her ass would never be the same again.

Andy could spank her as hard as he liked right now, and she wouldn’t feel a thing.

Stop it. No more thoughts about Andy. That’s over
.

‘What’s his name?’ Suzanne asked. She was a petite brunette who managed to make jeans tied with a belt made of bailer twine look chic. For a moment, Roz thought she had read her thoughts, until she realized Suzanne was talking about the horse.

‘Hagar’s Son, but I call him Nagsy.’ She would have to register him soon.

‘Nagsy it is, then.’ Suzanne petted him before looking him over with knowledgeable eyes. ‘He’s got extraordinary lines. Who does he remind me of?’

‘No idea. I want him fit and trained to race as soon as possible.’

‘It will be a nice change of pace from teaching tourists how to ride,’ Patrick said. He named a price that made her wince, but she agreed. Who knew racehorses were so expensive?

Once Nagsy was settled, Roz realized that she had made no plans for herself. Her entire worldly possessions were in the duffle bag she had taken from Lough Darra and she had nowhere to go. ‘Where’s the nearest B&B?’ she asked.

‘Here.’ Patrick pointed to the row of small chalet-style buildings. ‘After that, you’re looking at McGuigans four miles down the road, but I’m told their cooking isn’t the best and they’ll want to know every detail about you.’

Right now, Roz thought she would never be hungry again, so that wasn’t an issue, but a nosy landlady would be a disaster. They always gossiped.

‘Here is fine.’

And it was. The chalet was warm and comfortable, and even had a flat-screen TV to fill the silence with noise.

She went into the office the next morning to pay for Nagsy’s livery, and found Patrick cursing at his desktop. ‘What’s the problem?’ Computers were one thing she could do well. She could make them sing and dance and jump through hoops.

‘I’m trying to design a website that looks good and keeps track of bookings and everything I need. This is
impossible. Doctor Who himself couldn’t manage this stupid thing.’

‘Bet I could.’

She told him she was hiding from an abusive ex, who had beaten her and was trying to lock her up with no contact with any of her friends or relatives, and no horses. She had no difficulty making herself sound honest; it was the truth, or near enough to it.

Patrick believed every word.

They struck a bargain. She would live at the ranch and eat with the other guests and Patrick wouldn’t reveal her whereabouts to anyone. In return, she would help out at the stables and work on his website.

Roz buried herself in work. After a certain point, exhaustion obliterated all thoughts of Andy and how much she missed him, but she could do nothing about the dark eyes that haunted her dreams. About how often she woke up feeling strong arms around her and the slow thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

She didn’t need any of those things. Not now. Not ever.

At least she had cash, which meant she didn’t have to use credit cards. She had no doubt that the first time she put a card into a machine, Niall Moore and Andy McTavish would be on her tail. She didn’t even bother buying a new phone.

Roz took a chance one evening and borrowed a phone from one of the American guests to ring Pentonville. Her father was in great form, and had received some good news. He was getting out sooner than they had expected. The authorities believed that after his beating and stint in
hospital, he deserved early release. He would be out in less than two months.

Damn, damn, damn. That raised the stakes and complicated things. She had to have the money by the time he got out. She rang Frankie and told him they had to move up the timetable.

That night she dreamed of all the things that could go wrong, ending up with her standing at her father’s grave. All alone. In the distance, she heard the O’Sullivans laughing and saying, ‘We knew he would come to a bad end.’

Andy’s laughter joined them. ‘Did you really think you had a future?’

She’d never had such a vivid dream before, and woke up shaking. Even a hot shower didn’t make her feel better. When she joined the O’Haras for breakfast, she was still unsettled. She walked into the kitchen and the heat from the stove hit her like a blow. Her legs weakened and she sat down quickly at the waxed pine table.

‘Rough night?’ Suzanne asked, handing her a steaming mug of coffee. The smell turned her stomach and she had to put it down and escape into the fresh air.

What the hell was going on? Suzanne was an excellent cook. She would never have used bad coffee beans, but that’s what the coffee smelled like.

Roz sucked in a few deep breaths and collected herself. Her stomach wasn’t the best, but she knew she should eat to fortify herself for the morning in the stables. She had to muck out ten horses before she rode out.

She went back into the kitchen and a cold sweat broke out on her back. Roz ignored it and sat at the table. She
forced herself to pick up a fork and take a mouthful of the fluffy eggs Suzanne had scrambled.

Her stomach rebelled and she put her hand over her mouth so that she wouldn’t puke at the table. Roz shoved the chair back so violently that it fell over. She dashed outside, not caring that at least half a dozen guests were staring after her, bemused.

Roz barely made it to the yard before she heaved helplessly. She dropped onto all fours and let nature take its course. Her stomach was empty so she brought up only a bitter yellow liquid, which seeped between the bricks.

She sat on her hunkers, hugging her knees in misery.

‘Try one of these.’ Suzanne was beside her, holding out a bag of barley sugar sweets.

Roz wanted to refuse, but the expression on Suzanne’s face made it clear she wasn’t going away, so she took one and sucked gingerly. To her surprise, it helped. She sucked until it was gone, then accepted another one.

She was suddenly hungry. ‘I think I could eat those eggs now.’

The smell of food drifting out from the kitchen was still as strong, but no longer as nauseating. ‘Sorry for making such a fuss, I have no idea what happened.’

‘No?’ Suzanne raised her eyebrows. ‘I think a pregnancy test might give you some answers.’

Roz was so shocked her feet slipped and even her parkour-honed reflexes couldn’t stop her from falling onto her ass. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘Is it? You know best.’ Suzanne went back to the stove, leaving Roz staring out into space.

Of course it was impossible. Andy had always used a condom, and it had been almost two years since her previous lover.

Wait. That last time at the ball, had Andy used protection then? She had been trying not to examine that heart-breaking memory, it hurt too much. But now she allowed herself to remember, and couldn’t recall the sound of foil tearing. And then there was the time before the dinner party … she couldn’t remember if he’d used a condom then or not.

So maybe … She counted back, trying to remember when she had last had a period. Surely it wasn’t long ago. What date was it now? She didn’t know.

Now that she thought about it, she did feel different. Not only the barfing at the breakfast table, but the lack of PMS, and something extra that was new.

She borrowed the keys to Patrick’s Jeep and drove to the nearest pharmacy. Half an hour later, she stared at a double blue line.

She was pregnant.

To be certain, she did the test again with the second stick, and got the same result.

Yes, pregnant.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She clutched the two plastic sticks, uncaring that they were wet with her urine, and danced around the tiny bathroom.

‘Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.’

She couldn’t take her eyes off the double lines in case they disappeared.

The emotions which flooded her were so tangled that
she couldn’t have put together a coherent sentence if her life depended on it.

She didn’t want to be pregnant. It was a disaster. It would ruin the rest of her life.

But a baby!

She hated babies, noisy at one end, smelly at the other and expensive all over. She didn’t want a baby, ever. She was too young and immature to look after a baby.

Andy’s baby. With big dark eyes staring up at her.

Pregnancy. Nine months of retching and throwing up. Weight gain. Swollen ankles. Varicose veins. Maternity clothes. It would be sheer hell.

Her hand pressed on her belly protectively. It was as flat as always, but somewhere in there a tiny human being rested, depending on her to look after it.

She couldn’t look after a baby. She could barely look after herself and the other people who depended on her. She had to make sure her father and Frankie were looked after, and she had a ruthless former Navy SEAL hunting her. Her life expectancy could be counted in weeks, not years. Now she had an extra responsibility.

She knew nothing about taking care of babies, but had a vague notion that it involved a lot of breastfeeding and nappy changing. Could she take a baby on the back of a motorbike, or would she have to buy a car? What about clothes? Did babies care if she put the wrong colour on them?

This was a disaster. She’d be a terrible mother. She couldn’t cope with a newborn. They’d take her baby away and give it to someone who could look after it properly.

Her hand tightened on her belly. No, they wouldn’t. She was keeping this baby. They could do what they liked, but she would protect it with her dying breath. She might be a useless mother, but it looked as if she
was
going to be a mother.

Time to get on with it.

She forced herself to put the pregnancy tests down on the bathroom sink.

One thing was sure. Nagsy’s price had just gone up. Way up.

Pregnancy sucked. Roz had never spent so much of her life trying not to puke.

From being someone who wolfed down whatever she could get, whenever she had time, she was now desperately trying to find things she could eat.

Her life had turned into a fight to eat without gagging and to keep the food down afterwards. She now lived on beans on toast, poached eggs, porridge, boil-in-the-bag fish (which drove Suzanne nuts), frozen grapes and cocoa.

Tea, coffee, bacon, green vegetables, potatoes, fried food or anything spicy turned her stomach, and choking down her folic acid tablet was a daily battle.

Oddly, although Patrick’s cologne forced her to open every window in the office in an effort not to retch, she still enjoyed the smell of the horses and the stables.

Maybe you’re a country girl at heart. Who knew?

She hadn’t told Patrick or Suzanne anything about being pregnant. In any case, Suzanne knew. She quietly cooked something bland at every meal and no longer set a wine glass for Roz in the evening.

Roz had taken to spending her afternoons, when she was supposed to be working on the ranch website, obsessing over the tiny life inside her. She logged on to pregnancy websites to see how much it had grown overnight. She worried about the lack of leafy vegetables in her diet and she dumped the packet of hair dye she had bought in Belfast. No matter how sick this baby was making her, she was taking no chances with its health.

The debate about continuing to ride engrossed her, but since there was no conclusion, she continued to ride out every day on the quietest horse in the stable.

Nagsy was coming along at an astonishing rate. Every morning, Roz dragged herself out of bed to watch him being trained and was impressed by his progress. At normal speed, he didn’t look like anything much but when his jockey gave the signal to open up, his choppy motion became smooth and elegant and ate up the ground. Sometimes it seemed he barely touched it.

Oh yes, she would have no trouble convincing Tim O’Sullivan that this horse was worth a million.

That was the figure she had set in her head as the price she would demand.

When she wasn’t surfing pregnancy and baby websites, she worked out the details of how she could make Nagsy look like a Gold Cup winner. She needed the paperwork to convince Tim he was the son of Shergar, a convincing time trial, and a convincing win. And also an opponent to drive up the price.

The obvious person was Andy McTavish. He was from the sort of family which bought expensive racehorses. Or even Dougal. But she knew that one hint of where she
was and what she wanted, and Andy would have her on the first plane to some witness protection hell in France.

She toyed with the idea of insisting that her dad went into hiding with her, but she abandoned it. She loved him, but she knew that Peter Spring would never settle down to a life of law-abiding boredom.