Stay Through the Night Page 7

  ‘Unbelievable, certainly,’ said Rosa drily, wondering if her mother was pathologically foolish where Sophie was concerned. For heaven’s sake, who was going to employ a starstruck teenager with a very minimal acting talent?

  ‘I might have known you’d say something like that, Rosa.’ Mrs Chantry sounded irritable now. ‘Just because Sophie isn’t on the island, as you expected, you’re taking your frustration out on me. Well, Scotland’s a big country. It’s natural that a production like this would need a less confined location.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea to come to the island,’ Rosa pointed out, aware that she sounded peeved. ‘It was your idea, not mine.’ She paused. ‘Did you tell her where I was?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t.’ Rosa gritted her teeth. ‘So where is she?’

  ‘I’ve just told you. She’s in Scotland,’ said her mother testily.

  ‘Where in Scotland?’

  ‘Ah…’ There was a pregnant pause. ‘Well, I’m not precisely sure.’

  ‘But you said you’d heard from her.’

  ‘I have. I did.’ Mrs Chantry sighed. ‘But you know what Sophie’s like, Rosa. She was so busy telling me all the exciting things that have happened to her that she forgot about giving me her address.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that, Rosa. Can’t you find out where she is?’

  Rosa sighed. ‘How am I supposed to do that?’

  ‘Well, you said Liam Jameson was there, didn’t you? He’ll know.’

  ‘Mum…’It was growing increasingly hard to be patient. ‘There is no film production. Or, if there is, Liam Jameson doesn’t know about it.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘I—er—’

  Belatedly, Rosa acknowledged that that was something that they hadn’t discussed. When she’d found out Sophie wasn’t on the island, that there was no film crew working there, she hadn’t thought to ask if he’d given permission for a film to be made elsewhere.

  But wouldn’t he have told her?

  Yet he hadn’t told her who he was until he’d had to.

  She’d been silent for too long, and her mother said sharply, ‘You have spoken to him, haven’t you?’

  Spoken?

  Rosa stifled the hysterical sob that rose in her throat at her mother’s words. Yes, she’d spoken to him all right, she thought. Though that was a poor description of what had happened between them.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice a little hoarse. ‘I’ve spoken to him, Mum. He was very—nice, actually.’ And that had to be the understatement of the year!

  ‘And he insisted he’d never seen Sophie?’ Mrs Chantry sounded anxious now, and Ross wished she hadn’t been so brutal. ‘Oh, I wish she’d taken her phone with her to Glastonbury. But Mark was taking his, and I was so afraid she’d lose it.’

  ‘I—I don’t think Jameson’s seen her,’ Rosa murmured weakly, hating the thought that her mother was going to start worrying all over again. ‘I—I’ll ask him again.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a good girl, Rosa.’ Now that she thought her daughter was softening, Mrs Chantry was prepared to be generous. ‘I knew I could rely on you. And don’t forget to find out where the film is being made.’

  Rosa put the phone down with a feeling of utter bewilderment. Speaking to her mother was like butting her head against a brick wall. Mrs Chantry only heard what she wanted to hear, and now that Rosa had agreed to speak to Liam Jameson again she was prepared to wait for developments.

  Rosa swore—something she rarely did, but right now she felt it was justified. Wait until she got her hands on her younger sister, she thought. Sophie would regret putting them through all this trauma.

  Yet if Sophie hadn’t disappeared Rosa wouldn’t have come here, wouldn’t have met Liam Jameson for herself. And, while that was something she might live to regret, right now the prospect of seeing him again was causing her heart to beat so madly it felt as if it was in danger of forcing its way right out of her chest.

  But where had he gone?

  She crossed to the door and pulled it open, only to fall back in surprise when she found Sam Devlin just outside. Had he been listening in to her conversation?

  But, no. Something told her that the burly Scotsman wouldn’t be interested in anything she had to say, and this was confirmed when he said brusquely, ‘Yon McAllister’s on his way from the village. He should be here in about half an hour. Would you like me to carry your bag down for you?’

  ‘Oh—no.’ Rosa was taken aback. But she should have known that Sam would waste no time in sending her on her way. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I wanted to have a word with Mr Jameson before I go.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Chantry. Mr Jameson is working, and it’s more than my job’s worth to disturb him.’

  Rosa doubted that very much. From what she’d seen, the two men had a good working relationship, and it was extremely unlikely that Liam Jameson would risk that by threatening to sack Devlin if he was disturbed.

  ‘It would only take a minute,’ she said persuasively. ‘I want to ask him something.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Sam wasn’t budging, and Rosa stared at him in frustration. If only she knew where Liam’s office—den?—was. Evidently he didn’t work in the library, as she’d thought at first. But in a place of this size he could be anywhere.

  ‘Tell me what you want to ask him and I’ll deliver your message when he’s free,’ Sam suggested, but Rosa had no intention of trusting him.

  ‘It’s personal,’ she said, but although she held the man’s gaze for a long while, hoping to shame him into helping her, ultimately it was she who looked away.

  Then another thought occurred to her. ‘You could give me his phone number,’ she said with inspiration. ‘I’ll ring him later.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that, Miss Chantry.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Mr Jameson doesn’t give his private number to anyone.’

  ‘Then give me yours,’ mumbled Rosa ungraciously. ‘I’ll let you know where I’m staying, and Mr Jameson can ring me.’

  Sam looked as if he wanted to refuse, but perhaps he realised that that would seem unnecessarily anal. Besides, he couldn’t really know that Liam wouldn’t speak to her if he went and asked him.

  However, when he spoke it wasn’t what Rosa had expected. ‘Mr Jameson knows where you’re staying, Miss Chantry,’ he said, and now Rosa noticed the scrap of paper in his hand. ‘He asked me to give you this address.’

  ‘Oh!’ That stumped her. ‘Thanks.’ She took the paper from his outstretched hand and looked at it almost resentfully. ‘Does Mr McAllister know where this is?’

  ‘Everyone knows where Katie Ferguson’s guesthouse is,’ declared Sam scornfully. ‘This isn’t London, Miss Chantry.’

  ‘I don’t live in London,’ retorted Rosa hotly. ‘I come from a small town in North Yorkshire, Mr Devlin. Not some teeming metropolis, as you seem to think.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Rosa was sure he didn’t mean it. ‘I naturally assumed—’

  ‘You shouldn’t assume anything,’ said Rosa, enjoying having him on the defensive for a change. She glanced down at the paper again. ‘Thanks for this.’

  Sam gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. ‘I’ll let you know when the car arrives.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Rosa again, and without another word Sam closed the door on her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘HAS SHE GONE?’

  It was later that morning, and Liam had just emerged from his study having spent a rather fruitless couple of hours trying to concentrate on characters who suddenly seemed as unconvincing as cardboard cut-outs.

  He’d found Sam and Mrs Wilson in the kitchen on the ground floor of the castle, enjoying a coffee break, and he’d accepted a cup from the housekeeper with some gratitude.

  He wasn’t in the best of moods, however, and his temper
wasn’t improved when Sam said cheerfully, ‘Aye, she’s gone, Liam. Not but what she didn’t ask to speak to you again before she left.’ He gave his employer a knowing look. ‘I told her you were working and couldn’t be disturbed, but I don’t think she was suited.’

  Liam scowled. He’d just burned his mouth on the hot coffee, and Sam’s announcement was the last straw. ‘You did what?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Why did you tell her that?’

  ‘Well, because you never like to be disturbed when you’re working,’ said Sam defensively. ‘Don’t tell me you expected me to come along to your office and break your concentration just because some lassie with more bluff than sense asked to see you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Liam’s scowl deepened, and Mrs Wilson made a hasty exit through the back door, murmuring something about needing some greens from the garden. Meanwhile, Sam stared at the younger man belligerently, although his face reddened with colour. ‘I think you heard what I said,’ he muttered defiantly.

  ‘And who appointed you my guardian?’ exclaimed Liam, equally unprepared to back down. ‘I know you didn’t like me bringing her here. You made that plain enough. But this is my house, Devlin, not yours.’

  Sam straightened. He had been lounging against the drainer as he chatted with the housekeeper, but now he stiffened his back. ‘I thought I was doing you a favour, man,’ he protested. He lifted an apologetic hand. ‘Obviously I was wrong. I’m sorry. Rest assured, it won’t happen again.’

  He turned and thrust his cup into the sink, but when he started across the room, evidently intending to leave Liam to it, Liam stepped into his path.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said roughly, ashamed at taking his frustration out on the older man. ‘Forget what I said, Sam. It’s not your fault I’m in a bloody mood.’

  Sam hesitated, still looking upset, and Liam cursed himself anew for distressing him. Dammit, Sam was right. He probably would have complained if Sam had interrupted him. He was letting a woman he might never see again ruin the long-established relationship he had with his steward, and that was stupid.

  ‘I mean it,’ he grunted, holding out his hand. ‘Take no notice of me. I’ve had a pretty useless morning, and I’m ready to blame anyone but myself.’

  Sam’s jaw clenched, but he took Liam’s hand and shook it warmly. ‘Yon lassie’s to blame,’ he said staunchly, but Liam wasn’t prepared to go that far.

  ‘Well, she’s gone now,’ he said neutrally, taking another mouthful of his coffee and finding it more to his taste. ‘McAllister turned up, I gather?’

  ‘Aye. In that old rattletrap he calls an estate car,’ agreed Sam, relaxing now. ‘How it passes its MOT test, God knows!’

  ‘I don’t suppose it does,’ said Liam, hoping it hadn’t broken down between Kilfoil and the village. He was remembering what Rosa had said about the dangers of the moor, and to imagine her walking into one of its treacherous bogs was enough to bring another scowl to his lips.

  But he wasn’t about to bring that up with Sam, and, finishing his coffee, he said, ‘I’ll see you later. I’m going to take the dogs out.’

  Sam arched his grey brows. ‘Shall I come with you?’ He eyed his employer’s injured thigh with concerned eyes. ‘You don’t want to have another of those spasms when you’re out on the cliffs.’

  Liam hid his impatience at the other man’s fussing, and said evenly, ‘The physio says I should get plenty of exercise. He says that spending too long at my desk is probably the reason why I’m still having problems.’

  ‘Even so—’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Liam assured him tersely. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

  After collecting a coat, and the dogs, Liam emerged into the open air with a feeling of relief. The animals were just as glad to escape the confines of the castle, and they ran about excitedly, chasing every cat and bird in sight.

  Liam didn’t intend to go far. There were clouds massing on the horizon, and unless he missed his guess they’d have rain before nightfall. Knowing how quickly the weather could change in these parts, he had no desire to risk getting caught in a storm. He could be soaked to the skin in minutes. It wasn’t as if he could run for cover, either. Thanks to his attacker, his running days were over.

  Even so, he went out onto the cliffs, trudging through knee-high grasses that were an ideal hiding place for small rodents and birds of all kinds. The wind, blowing off the ocean, lifted the thick dark hair from his forehead and made him wish he’d worn something warmer than the ankle-length waterproof coat that flapped around his legs.

  His thigh did move more freely as he exercised it, but he didn’t think he was up to negotiating the cliff steps down to the cove this morning. Climbing down necessitated climbing up again, and that was probably a step too far.

  He was considering turning back when Harley, the younger of the two retrievers, scared up a rabbit. The terrified creature must have been hiding in the gorse bushes that grew near the edge of the cliff, and when Harley started barking it shot away across the headland, making unmistakably for the gully that ran down to the beach.

  Naturally, Harley gave chase, pursued by the other dogs, and although Liam shouted himself hoarse he soon realised he was wasting his time. The dogs weren’t going to come back until the rabbit had been rousted, and it was at that moment that he felt the first heavy drops of rain.

  He swore loudly, limping across to the edge of the cliffs. He could see all three dogs from this vantage point. The gully was a lot easier for a dog to negotiate than the steps, and, although there was no sign of the rabbit, the dogs were having a whale of a time racing along the sand, splashing in and out of the waves breaking on the shore.

  ‘Dammit!’ He swore again, but although he tried every way he could to get them to come back they weren’t listening to him.

  What price now his arrogant assertion that he didn’t need Sam’s help? he thought grimly. The man might be fifteen years older than Liam, but he wouldn’t have thought twice about going after the dogs. And, unless he wanted to return home with his own metaphoric tail between his legs, Liam knew he’d have to do the same.

  It wasn’t too bad going down. Although the rain was getting heavier, his determination kept him going—until his boots sank into the damp sand. The dogs came to him eagerly now, barking and leaping around him, as if their aim had been to get him down there all along.

  ‘Home,’ ordered Liam grimly, ignoring their welcome, and at last his tone had some success. Or maybe it was the rain, he reflected wryly. It was certainly quite a downpour, and even the dogs preferred a dry coat to a wet one. Whatever the reason, all three of them obeyed his command, charging up the steps ahead of him, standing at the top, panting and wagging their tails with apparent pride at their achievement.

  However, Liam found it much harder to follow them. The steps were slippery now, and every now and then, he was forced to clutch at handfuls of turf to prevent himself from sliding backwards.

  His thigh ached, and halfway up he had to stop and allow the spasms in his leg to subside. God, he should have swallowed his pride and gone back to the castle for help, he thought bitterly. The way his muscles were feeling now, he’d probably undone all the good that treatment he’d had in London had achieved.

  The dogs had disappeared by the time he finally reached the clifftop. Which was par for the course, he thought, panting heavily. He just hoped they’d gone back to the castle. If they hadn’t, hard luck. He wasn’t going looking for them. He was just relieved that Rosa Chantry wasn’t still there. He’d have hated for her to see him like this. Dammit, he still had some pride.

  It rained all day Wednesday.

  Rosa, who was confined to Katie Ferguson’s guesthouse, stared out at the weather with a feeling of desperation. She felt so helpless. Where was Sophie? she fretted, the inactivity putting her at the mercy of her fears. All right, she’d said she was okay, and Rosa had to accept that. But something about this whole situation didn’t add up.

&n
bsp; Still, she could do nothing until the ferry arrived the following morning, she consoled herself, rubbing a circle in the condensation her breath had made on the glass. The guesthouse was cosy, her room small, but comfortable. But there were no other guests with whom she could have passed the time.

  She glanced across the room at the table beside the bed. Two paperbacks that she’d bought at the post office-cum-general store resided there. One was a historical romance with a Scottish setting that she’d hoped might distract her from her troubles, but it hadn’t. The other was a Liam Jameson.

  The postmistress, a rather garrulous Scotswoman, had gone on at some length about the quality of Liam’s writing. She’d read everything he’d ever written, she’d said, even though she didn’t usually enjoy that sort of thing.

  ‘But his characters are so good, aren’t they?’ she’d enthused. ‘That Luther Killian! My goodness, I’d never realised that vampires could be so fascinating.’

  Of course Rosa had had to admit that she hadn’t read any of Liam’s books, and that was when she’d discovered how Sam had explained her presence on the island.

  ‘Why, I was sure you’d have read all of them, seeing as you work for his publisher and all,’ the postmistress had exclaimed in surprise. And when Rosa had looked confused she’d added ruefully, ‘Och, old McAllister told us who you were. When Sam Devlin called him out to Kilfoil, he said a young lady from Pargeters had been visiting Mr Jameson.’ She’d nodded at the rain. ‘It’s only a pity you’re seeing the island in its worst light. It’s really quite beautiful.’

  Rosa had admitted then that it hadn’t been raining when she’d first arrived. But, not wanting to contribute to any more gossip, she’d paid for the books and made good her escape.

  However, she wondered now if Sam had told Mrs Ferguson the same story. It seemed possible, although her landlady was much more reserved, and she hadn’t questioned why Rosa should have been visiting the castle.

  Rosa sighed. Nevertheless, it was because of Liam that she’d found it impossible to read his book. She couldn’t help associating Luther Killian with the man who’d created him, and the fact that Liam hadn’t bothered getting back to her was a constant thorn in her side.