Stay Through the Night Read online

  ‘There’s a phone in here,’ he said, opening a door into what appeared to be a library. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll ask Mrs Wilson to provide some refreshments.’

  ‘You will tell Mr Jameson I’m here?’ Rosa reminded him, wondering about the rather curious look that crossed his face at her words.

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ he agreed, remaining on the landing. ‘If you’ll excuse me…?’

  Rosa nodded, trying not to feel apprehensive when he closed the door rather firmly behind him. Well, she was here. She’d reached her destination. And if the circumstances were not what she’d expected, it wasn’t her fault.

  Turning, she surveyed the room with determined confidence. One wall curved, as if it was part of the tower she’d just climbed, but all the walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a granite-topped desk, strewn with papers and a laptop computer, and several leather chairs.

  Rosa wondered if these were Liam Jameson’s books, but there were obviously too many for that to be so. Approaching one of the shelves, she drew out a bulky tome, hand-carved in leather. But the title, Vampire Myths of the Fifteenth Century, made her hastily push it back again.

  But she was wasting time, she thought, noticing the neat black instrument set at one end of the desk. She had to call her mother. Mrs Chantry would probably be biting her nails by this time. Particularly if she’d tried to ring Rosa herself.

  As she waited for the connection, Rosa perched on the edge of the window seat. The walls were thick and the sills were broad, plenty broad enough to provide a comfortable seat. Glancing down, she saw that from this angle she could see the gardens at the back of the castle, and a couple of huge glasshouses, set into the lee of the tower.

  Obviously the place was self-sufficient, she thought. And, despite her initial reaction, Rosa quite envied Jameson for living here. It was peaceful in a way very few places were these days.

  Then, her mother answered. ‘Rosa? Rosa, is that you? Have you found Sophie? Is she all right?’

  ‘I haven’t found her.’ Rosa decided there was no point in prevaricating. ‘There isn’t a film crew on the island, Mum. Sophie must have been making it up.’

  ‘Oh, she wouldn’t do that.’ Mrs Chantry was so gullible where her younger daughter was concerned. ‘If she’s not there, then Mark must have made a mistake. Scotland’s a big place. They must be filming somewhere else.’

  ‘But where?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? That’s for you to find out.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Rosa was non-committal. ‘I may know more after I’ve spoken to Liam Jameson himself.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t spoken to him personally?’

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘Well, for heaven’s sake, Rosa, what have you been doing?’

  ‘Getting here,’ retorted Rosa indignantly. ‘It was a long journey, you know.’

  ‘So where are you now? Sitting in some bar in Mallaig, I suppose. And who told you there’s no film being made on the island?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’m on the island at this moment. I’m at Kilfoil Castle. And I’m pretty sure that nothing’s going on here.’

  Her mother snorted. ‘So if Jameson’s not there—’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Rosa interrupted. ‘Haven’t I just said I’ll know more after I’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘So he’s not with the production?’

  If he ever was. ‘It would appear not,’ said Rosa trying to be patient. She heard the sound of someone opening the library door. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll ring you later. As soon as I have some news.’

  She rang off before Mrs Chantry could issue any more instructions. Then, getting up from the window seat, she turned to find Luther Killian standing just inside the door. He’d evidently changed. The crumpled shirt and jeans he’d worn to travel in had been replaced by a long-sleeved purple knit shirt and drawstring cotton trousers. Judging by the drops of water sparkling on his dark hair, he’d had a shower as well.

  Rosa knew her jaw had dropped, and she quickly rescued it. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, a little nonplussed. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

  Well, she’d thought he would have by now.

  Liam’s smile was guarded. ‘Is everything all right at home?’ he asked, guessing what had been going on. He pushed the tips of his fingers into the back pockets of his pants. ‘You look—surprised to see me.’

  ‘I am.’ Rosa didn’t think there was any point in lying about it. ‘Have you spoken to Liam Jameson? Has he agreed to see me?’

  ‘He has,’ said Liam drily, finding this harder than he’d expected. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rosa, but I’m Liam Jameson.’

  Rosa stared at him aghast. ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘No.’ Liam pulled a face, and then, abandoning his awkward stance, he crossed to the desk and went to stand behind it. ‘I didn’t intend to deceive you. Not initially. It just worked out that way.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘YOU’RE NOT SERIOUSLY going to allow her to stay here until she can get a ferry back to the mainland, are you?’ Sam Devlin was dismayed. ‘Man, you know nothing about this woman. How do you know this wasn’t just a ruse to get into the castle?’

  ‘I don’t.’ Liam finished the plate of bacon and eggs Mrs Wilson had cooked for him and reached for his steaming mug of coffee, sitting on the gleaming pine table beside him. He took a mouthful of the coffee, the third cup he’d had that morning, and sighed his satisfaction. ‘But, in answer to your first question, she’s leaving this morning. As soon as she can get her belongings packed.’

  ‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ said Sam briskly. ‘I could hardly believe it when Edith told me she was staying the night. Not but what the lassie seems honest enough. It’s just unlike you to invite a stranger into your home.’

  ‘I know.’ Liam could hear the edge in his voice, but he didn’t appreciate Sam telling him what he already knew. ‘Anyway, I doubt if you’d have wanted to drive her back to the village last night.’

  Sam sniffed. ‘You could always have called McAllister out. He gets little enough work as it is.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t,’ said Liam shortly. ‘And, for your information, I don’t think she has an ulterior motive for being here. For God’s sake, she didn’t know who I was until I told her.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘So I know.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Sam backed down. ‘But I’m always suspicious when supposedly innocent strangers turn up out of the blue. I mean, who would be stupid enough as to believe you’d allow anyone to make a film on Kilfoil?’

  ‘Her teenage sister, perhaps?’

  ‘But you have nothing to do with film production.’

  ‘I told her that,’ said Liam mildly.

  ‘So why did you bring her here? Couldn’t you have convinced her you were telling the truth and sent her on her way?’

  ‘She wanted to come,’ said Liam flatly. ‘She insisted on speaking to Liam Jameson in person.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘This was when you were masquerading as Luther Killian?’

  ‘If you want to put it that way, yes.’

  Sam snorted. ‘Well, I don’t know what you were thinking of, Liam. For God’s sake, you’re not a teenager. You’re a middle-aged writer of horror fiction. You should have known better.’

  ‘Gee, it’s so good to know what you think of me,’ drawled Liam drily. ‘Why didn’t you add with more scars than Ben Nevis and a gammy leg into the bargain?’

  Sam’s gnarled cheeks had gained a little colour now. ‘Och, you know what I think of you, man. Surely there’s no need for me to mince my words.’ He paused, and when his employer didn’t say anything he continued fiercely, ‘If you were the type who played around with the lassies, Liam, it would be different. But you’re not. You never have been. Sure, I know you’ve had the odd fling now and then, but you’ve never brought your conquests home. Not since Kayla—’

  ‘Don’t go there, Sam.’

>   Liam came to life now, and the older man hunched his shoulders at the reproof. It was years since he’d even thought about Kayla Stevens, thought Liam grimly. The woman he’d been intending to marry before the disastrous attack that had almost killed him.

  They’d met at a launch party his publisher had thrown for him when his first book had made number one on the bestseller lists. Kayla had been a struggling model, hired out by her agent for such occasions to add a little glamour to the mix. She’d seemed out of place there, too innocent to be forced to earn a living in that way. Liam had felt sorry for her—much as he’d done for Rosa Chantry, he thought now, scowling at the memory. But he’d eventually learned that Kayla had always had an eye to the main chance.

  Although she’d hung around the hospital for a while after the attack, the idea of getting hitched to a man who was badly scarred, who might be impotent or paralysed, and who would definitely need a lot of care and understanding to recover, hadn’t appealed to Kayla. Six months after returning Liam’s ring, she’d married a South American polo player with enough money to keep her in the style to which she’d become accustomed. The fact that without Liam she’d never have had the opportunity to meet such a man didn’t even compute.

  Sam was looking dejected now, and Liam took pity on him. ‘Look, this isn’t about what Kayla did, right? It’s about helping someone out. Rosa’s mother doesn’t know where her younger daughter is. I expect she’s pretty worried by now.’

  ‘So why doesn’t she go to the police?’

  ‘And say what? That her daughter’s gone off with another man and her boyfriend’s jealous? Sam, teenagers are notoriously unpredictable. She’ll probably turn up in a couple of days and deny the whole thing.’

  ‘So why did you get involved?’

  Good question. ‘I’ve been asking myself that,’ admitted Liam sagely. ‘I don’t know. Because my name was mentioned, I suppose. According to Rosa, her sister’s a big fan. Maybe I was flattered. In any case, she’s leaving today.’

  It was the sunlight that awakened her. When she’d finally gone to bed—some time after midnight, she thought—she’d been sure she wouldn’t sleep and the moonlight had been comforting. But she must have been more tired than she’d thought, both mentally and physically. Otherwise, why would she have accepted that man’s help?

  Discovering that the man she knew as Luther Killian was really Liam Jameson had knocked her off balance. And angered her, too, she admitted. He’d had no right to lie about his identity, however desperate he was to retain his anonymity.

  The fact that he must have been equally stunned to learn that he was supposed to have met her sister at a pop festival and offered her a screen test made it marginally excusable. But she wouldn’t have come here at all if he’d been honest with her from the start.

  Pushing back the duvet, Rosa swung her legs out of bed and padded, barefoot, to the windows. The floor was cold beneath her feet, but she thought she’d never get tired of the view. She was on the second floor of the castle and her windows looked out over the headland. She had an uninterrupted view of the restless sea that broke against the rocks.

  It was so beautiful, the sun already tingeing the tips of the waves with gold. But there were clouds on the horizon, brooding things which threatened rain later. Perhaps this afternoon, she considered, wondering where she’d be sleeping tonight.

  The realisation that it must be later than she’d thought occurred belatedly. Or perhaps it was the appetising aroma of warm bread drifting to her nostrils that reminded her she hadn’t eaten much the night before. She turned with a start to find there was a tray resting on the chest of drawers standing by the doorway. Someone had evidently put it there. Was that what had woken her?

  She’d been resting her bare knee on the wide sill, but now she straightened and headed back to the bed, where she’d left her watch. Snatching it up from the nightstand, she saw it was already half-past-nine. Good heavens, she must have slept for at least eight hours.

  She hesitated, torn between getting washed and dressed or investigating the contents of the tray. The tray won out, and, deciding that whoever had put it there deserved to be compensated, she picked it up and carried it back to the window seat.

  A flask of what was obviously coffee invited her to try it. There was milk and cream in small jugs, brown sugar, and a basket of warm rolls. These were what she’d smelled, she realised, touching them reverently. Warm rolls, giving off the delicious scents of raisin and cinnamon.

  Had Liam Jameson arranged this for her? More likely Mrs Wilson, she thought, remembering how rude she’d been to her host the afternoon before. But learning that he had been Liam Jameson all along had been so humiliating. When he’d told her he was the man she’d been waiting to see, she’d felt hopelessly out of her depth…

  ‘You?’ she’d said stupidly. ‘You’re Liam Jameson?’ She shook her head. ‘You can’t be.’

  He was annoyingly laconic. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you don’t look anything like your picture,’ Rosa protested, remembering the young man with a moustache and goatee beard she’d seen on the back cover of one of his novels. This man’s face was clean-shaven, if you didn’t count the shadow of stubble on his chin.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I really am Liam Jameson,’ he said. ‘The picture I think you’re referring to was taken about twelve years ago.’

  ‘Then you ought to have it updated,’ she snapped.

  As if!

  Liam shrugged. ‘As I believe I told you earlier, I’m a fairly reclusive soul. I prefer not to be recognised.’

  ‘That’s no excuse.’ Rosa was trying hard not to feel too let down. ‘So, what about Sophie? Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Of course not.’ The exasperation in his voice was unmistakable. ‘If I did, don’t you think I’d have told you?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think, do I?’ Rosa’s nails dug into her palms. ‘You bring me here under false pretences…’

  ‘Now, wait a minute.’ Liam didn’t know why her words stung him so much. That was, in effect, what he’d done. Taking a different tack, he went on, ‘Would you have believed me if I’d told you who I was? You’ve just accused me of not looking anything like my picture.’ He paused. ‘If you must know, I felt sorry for you. You’d obviously been sent on a wasted journey, and whatever I’d said you would still have been stuck here for three more days.’

  Rosa lifted her chin at this. ‘There was no need for you to feel sorry for me, Mr Jameson.’

  ‘Wasn’t there?’ Liam couldn’t help but admire her courage. He’d obviously judged her too harshly when he’d thought she had no spirit. ‘So—what? If I’d told you who I was, you’d have just booked into a bed and breakfast and waited for Thursday’s ferry? You wouldn’t have been at all suspicious that I might not have been telling you the truth?’

  ‘Well, I would have asked you about Sophie,’ said Rosa, her shoulders slumping. ‘You should have told me who you were,’ she added again. ‘Who is Luther Killian anyway? Someone who works for you?’

  ‘You might say that.’ A trace of humour crossed his face, and she was annoyed to feel herself responding to his charm. ‘Luther Killian is the main character in all my novels. Which just proves that you’re not a fan.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Sophie is the one who reads your books.’ She shook her head bitterly. ‘You must think I’m such a fool.’

  ‘Why would I think that?’

  He had the nerve to look indignant, but Rosa was way past being understanding. ‘Because I was too stupid to suspect anything,’ she retorted. ‘Even when it became obvious that you knew too much about him not to be involved.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Why did you do it, Mr Jameson? Were you just playing a game? Did making a fool of me turn you on?’

  Now, where had that come from?

  Rosa was still gazing at him, horrified at what she’d said, when someone knocked at the door. There was a moment when she feared Liam Jameson wa
s going to ignore it, but then he turned and strode across the room. Once more, he was dragging his leg, but Rosa was too dismayed to feel any compassion for him. God in heaven, he would think she was no better than her sister.

  The housekeeper was waiting outside. She was carrying a tray of tea and sandwiches, and Liam let her into the room with controlled politeness.

  ‘This is Mrs Wilson,’ he said, his voice as cold as she’d heard it. ‘Enjoy your lunch. I’ll speak to you later.’

  But in fact he hadn’t. When Mrs Wilson had come in to collect the tray again, she’d offered the news that Mr Jameson was resting. He’d apparently asked the housekeeper to provide a room for her, where she could freshen up and so on. And that was how Rosa came to be here, almost twenty-four hours after her arrival.

  Not that she’d ever expected to stay the night. When she’d had as much of the tea and sandwiches as she could stomach, with her conscience making every mouthful an effort, she’d ventured downstairs with the tray, hoping to run into her host. But the only person she’d encountered was Sam Devlin, and he’d taken some pleasure in telling her that Mr Jameson was indisposed and wouldn’t be able to speak to her that afternoon after all.

  Naturally, Rosa had blamed herself for Jameson’s condition, sure that her behaviour had contributed to his malaise. But when she’d asked how she could get back to the village, Devlin had reluctantly admitted that his employer didn’t want her to leave until he’d spoken to her again.

  ‘Mr Jameson suggests that you might like to spend a little time exploring the grounds of the castle,’ he’d said tersely. ‘I can come with you, if you like? Or, if not, you’re free to relax in the library. There are plenty of books to read, and Mrs Wilson can supply anything else you need.’

  In the event, Rosa had agreed to go for a walk, though not with Sam Devlin. She’d a managed to convince the dour Scotsman that she wouldn’t get lost, and she’d spent a fairly pleasant hour wandering through gardens bright with late summer flowers, with only the dogs for company.