Winters & Somers (24 page)

            The door opened and a
white-coated doctor came in. “Mr. Henley?” he asked, looking around the room.

            “Yes?” Liam asked, and
there was trepidation in his voice.

            “Good news. Mrs.
Henley, there's no sign of a fracture in your skull, although there is
definitely some concussion. I want you to stay with us for the next 24 hours,
and then if all is well you can go home. Any sign of dizziness, headaches, that
kind of thing, you press the call button immediately. But I'd say you were one
lucky lady in all this.” The doctor signed a brief notation on the clipboard at
the bottom of Margaret's bed. “I'm leaving a note for some mild pain killers,
if you need them. I can't give you anything stronger or anything to help you
sleep, because of the concussion. But it looks as though you'll be right as
rain in a few days.” With a smile that took in the entire room, he was on his
way again.

            Liam Henley slumped
down into a chair. “Oh, God, I was so afraid...” He leaned forward and gripped
his wife's hand. “Whatever would I do if anything happened to you?”

            “Oh, you old fool.
Jonathon, would you mind taking this old eejit down to the cafeteria and making
sure he eats something? He's been hanging around me like a wasp around a honey
pot. Cíara, you'll stay with me while they're gone, won’t you?”

            The message was obvious
– Margaret Henley wanted Cíara alone. With a good-natured shrug, Winters nodded
to Liam Henley. “We know when we're not wanted, Liam. Let's go find breakfast.”

            When they were finally
alone, Margaret Henley looked at the bedspread where her fingers were twined
with her granddaughter's.

            “Something like this
makes you see your own mortality,” she said, her voice thin. “I actually
thought, for a few moments, that he would kill me. I thought I was going to
die.” Tears welled up in the older woman's eyes, and Cíara sent up a silent
prayer for five minutes alone with the burglar who'd brought this awful fear
and insecurity into the eyes of her haughty grandmother.

            “But some things are a
blessing in disguise.” Margaret Henley’s voice was stronger. “I had such a good
time with Lillian and Grace yesterday. Sometimes you can be lonely without
actually realizing it. Your grandfather and I, we've been everything to each
other, the only comfort we had after your father was killed. Now I need
something from you, and I know you've hated us in the past and blamed us for so
many things and...”

             Cíara swallowed past a
sorrow the size of a watermelon in her throat. “I'm just getting a whole new
perspective on the past, and seeing that maybe there are shades of gray amongst
all these blacks and whites. Granny Somers was always so sure that everything
was your fault…”

            “She was grieving, too.
She thought if we'd accepted the marriage that her daughter would have lived.
Maybe she was right. But…well, I explained the reasons your father left us that
night in a rage. We can't put the clock back, no matter how much we might long
to. And Lillian had lost everything, too. I think she wanted to keep you to
herself partly because she was afraid of being alone – at least I had Liam to
turn to – and partly to punish us because she was angry at everything.”

            “You're being very
compassionate,” her granddaughter said, remembering the harsh things she'd
heard from her other grandmother.

            “I think, my dear, that
the sins were on both sides. Grief makes people do some awful things
sometimes.” Margaret Henley fell silent, her eyes closed as if exhausted.

            “Perhaps you'd better
get some rest. There'll be lots of time for catching up.”

            But her grandmother
grasped her hand tightly. Searching her granddaughter's face, she said:
“Promise me, Cíara, that if anything happens to me, you'll look after William?”

            “Nothing's going to
happen to you.” She didn't want to accept this new burden of responsibility,
wasn't ready for it. There was already too much to absorb.

            “One thing this has
proven to me is that we don’t know what's going to happen. I was so happy when
I got home, so happy that there'd been so much fence mending done and maybe we
could look forward to a less bitter future. And then…then this happened.” The
tears that had shone in Margaret's eyes now trailed down her cheeks. “Just
promise me you won't let him be too lonely?”

And Cíara, who
for so long had only wished terrible things for Margaret and William Henley,
nodded her head as tears ran down her own cheeks. It seemed little enough to
promise after all the years of hurt, especially if it gave comfort to the frail
woman who lay so palely in the hospital bed.

* * *

            Winters was waiting for
her when she left Margaret Henley's room. She was grateful for his silence,
even though she knew there were questions he wanted to ask. Her own head was
buzzing with questions, ranging from how come she hadn't seen the good side of
the Henleys before, to who the thug was who had attacked her grandmother – and
what could she do about it?

            “I know it's none of my
business, but Margaret and Liam don't seem so bad as grandparents go,” Winters
commented.

            She ground her teeth.
Since
when was he on first name terms with her grandparents?

            “You're right – it is
none of your business. And who made you the expert on grandparents, anyway?”
She knew he was right, but that meant admitting that she might have been wrong
all these years.

            “Sometimes, Cíara, you
are just too much.” He rubbed his hands across his face. “I'm not an expert on
grandparents, never having had any of my own. At least, none that I knew. But
if I did have some, I wouldn't mind if they were like Liam and Margaret.”

            She glanced sideways at
her 'partner'. The sad note in his voice had struck her, and not for the first
time she wanted to get to know more about this man. To know about his
background, his family, the things he liked, what it would be like, making love
with him….

            “Where would you like
to go?” he asked as they pulled out into the bumper-to-bumper traffic of a
typical Dublin morning rush hour.

            And for a wild moment
she almost said: “To bed with you.” But she bit the words back, telling herself
they came from a need for reassurance while her world was being stood on its
head. Instead she growled: “To the office. There's work to be done – I'm not
letting that pond scum get away with this.”

            She glared at Winters
as he chuckled.

            “What are you giggling
at?”

            “Just a relief
reaction. You're directing your temper at someone else for a change.”

            “Very funny.” She sank
back in her seat, grateful for once to leave the driving in his capable hands
as she gave herself up to thoughts of the Diamond Darling.

            Once they reached the
office of Winters & Somers, Private Inquiry Agency, she was even too busy
to grind her teeth at the nameplate he'd had placed on the door. She gave a
passing grunt at the audacity of the man –
putting his name first on her
business!
– then went right to the filing cabinet and pulled out the slim
file on the Diamond Darling that Bill had given them.

            “You know that's
supposed to be confidential police information?” he said, and smiled at her
rude response. Cíara split the file in two, handing one pile of papers to
Winters and slapped the other half down on the desk in front of her before
heading over to put the kettle on for instant coffee.

            “So, boss, what are we
looking for?”

            “Any name that
consistently pops up on the lists of visitors to the houses that have already
been burgled.”

            “What about the
Henleys? Do you have a list of the guests at their last dinner party?” Winters
asked.

            “Their last dinner
party was the one you were at, and I can make up a list because I knew everyone
there.” She sat down and rapidly listed the names of the Henley's dinner
guests, including some of the cream of Dublin society.

She handed him a
copy of the list, tapping the pencil against her lip. “The Diamond Darling has
got to be one of these people, or someone connected to these people. It's just
that they are all very, very wealthy in their own right – why would they need
to get into this sort of thing? In fact, as far as I can see, the only one on
this list not a millionaire is yourself.”

            “So far as you know –
or did you run a credit check on me?” His eyes narrowed. But he knew that she
could not have accessed his credit rating or she wouldn't have reached the
wrong conclusion. “Of course, you could be said to fit into the same category.
And you were desperate for money.”

            “I was not!”

“Cíara, I know
about the mechanic you helped. I think it was an admirable thing to do.”

There was
something about the tender note of pride in his voice that made her focus her
attention on the paperwork in front of her. It was the only way she could hide
the slight flush on her cheeks – and the wetness in her eyes that his tone
produced.

            Winters rattled the
papers in front of him and continued. “Bill O'Malley has already run these
lists through the police computer. There are several people who were at all the
dinner parties, but only three who fit the size and general description of the
Diamond Darling. You remember he – or she – must be able to fit through a small
window, so we're looking for someone with a slight build.

“On the list,
one is a teenaged girl and while it's possible she could fit through the
windows, she's got solid alibis for most of the actual burglary dates. The
second is an arthritic 80 year old – he fits the size requirements, but I doubt
if he'd be shinning up a drainpipe and in through anyone's bathroom window.”

Winters paused,
not meeting Cíara’s eyes. “Then there's your friend, Anton Wallace.”

Cíara chewed at
her bottom lip. She’d hoped that opening Winters’ eyes to what she actually did
– and the fact that she wasn’t really seducing these men – would have taken
that suspicious look from his eyes.
Had she been wrong?

             “So, just what do you
know about Wallace?”

Was he
avoiding her eyes because he didn’t trust her – or could he be actually
jealous?
Something perverse in Cíara’s heart hoped it was jealousy.

            “Jon, this was just
another job to me.”

Winters reached
over and grasped her hand. Standing and pulling her up with him, he murmured:
“So you weren't even a damsel in distress when I did my White Knight act?”

She backed away
slowly, mesmerized by the deep blue of his eyes. Now she knew how small rodents
felt when the snake was hungry. And there was nothing at all she could do about
it, except maybe book an immediate flight to some South American country and
disappear into the jungle…

She was against
the wall with nowhere to go. He pulled her against him. “What are you doing?”
she squeaked.

“The last time
we stood like this, in this office, you kneed me. I want you to know that this
time I won't feel the need to be constrained in my reaction.”

 She swallowed.

“There's just
one thing I don’t understand about all that – why, if you'd already got Wallace
following you like a happy puppy dog, did you scream for help? If all you were
doing was tempting the man, you’d done your job and could have just left. So
why the rescue scene?”

“What are you
thinking, Winters?”

“I'm thinking
maybe you and Grace are running a little blackmail scam of your own – not only
do you get paid by the pathetic women who hire you, but you get a bonus payment
from the target, as well. Classic blackmail – pay up or we’ll tell what you
did.”

Cíara's chin was
just about sitting on the floor. Just when she thought they understood each
other. She was beginning to get a glimmer of what was in his mind – and if she
wasn't so angry, it would be laughable.

“Is that what
you were doing, Cíara? Were you setting me up as another client, with a view to
blackmailing me? If so, you have an inflated view of what writers earn – and of
how concerned I'd be at the publicity. Of course, your view of your
attractiveness isn't inflated. I'd say it’s spot on. Maybe I could just get a
little taste on account?”

And he leaned
forward, his intentions obvious as his lips hovered above hers and his hands
roved over her body.

            “Don't make me give you
a shiner on the other side of your face!” she threatened, but Winters wasn't
backing down any. And when his mouth fastened on hers, the heat that arced
between them took them both by surprise.

            It took a heroic act of
willpower for her to come up for air. Pushing her hands flat against his chest,
she pushed him away. And tried to ignore her body's protests.

            “Sit down, Winters. I
think we need to straighten something out.”

            For a moment she
thought he would ignore her. There was still a fire in his eyes that didn't
look like it would die down without some major action. Then he took his seat behind
the big new office desk and waited. But he didn't take his eyes off her, and
she felt as though that fire was burning her up as she walked across to her own
chair.

            “Somewhere we've got
some very crossed wires. What, exactly, do you think I do?”

            Winters grunted. “I
think it's pretty obvious what you do. I'd hoped that, if I could help you get
this agency up and running, that you'd quit the game and get yourself a proper
life.”