Stay Through The Night. Anne Mather
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Название: Stay Through The Night
Автор: Anne Mather
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Modern
isbn: 9781408939598
isbn:
He ran a hand down over his thigh, feeling the ridge of hard flesh that arced down into his groin even through his worn jeans. He’d been lucky, he reflected. Of the many wounds he’d had that one could have killed him. Instead, although the knife had severed his femoral artery, causing an almost fatal loss of blood, and sliced through enough nerves and sinews to leave him with a permanent weakness in his left leg, he’d survived. It was his attacker who’d died, turning the knife on himself when he’d been confident he’d achieved his objective.
Liam grimaced, determinedly shoving such thoughts aside. It had all happened a long time ago now, and since then none of his books had aroused such a frenzied response in his readers. He took a deep breath of cold sea air, glad that he’d chosen to drive back from London overnight to catch this morning’s ferry to the island. There wouldn’t be another ferry until Thursday, and he was impatient to get back to Kilfoil and to his work.
Locking the car, he flexed his shoulder muscles and stretched his legs, feeling the stiffness of driving almost non-stop for ten hours in his bones. He had pulled off into a service area around 3:00 a.m. for coffee, and slept for twenty minutes before resuming his journey. But it wasn’t the same as sleeping in his bed.
His attention was caught by the sight of a lone woman leaning on the railings at the end of the jetty. It was her hair that had drawn his eyes: deep red and wildly curly, it refused to be controlled by the ribbon she’d tied at her nape. But she seemed hardly aware of it. She was gazing out towards Skye, as if she hoped to find some kind of answer in the mist gathering over the rain-shrouded hills.
Liam shrugged. She was obviously a visitor, dressed for summer in the Highlands, he thought ironically. But, while they had been known to have temperatures well into the eighties, at present the northerly breeze was creating a more predictable sixty-five.
Jack Macleod, who ran a fleet of sailboats that he hired out to tourists, hailed Liam as he left the car and started across to the ferry terminal. ‘Now, then, stranger,’ he said, grinning broadly. ‘We were beginning to think you’d changed your mind about coming back.’
‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ said Liam, hooking his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans, his chambray shirt parting at the neck to reveal the dark hair clustered at his throat. ‘I got back as soon as I could. Spending too long in overcrowded cities doesn’t appeal to me any more.’
‘Didn’t I hear you’d gone to London to see the medic?’ Jack asked, regarding his friend with critical eyes. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
‘A check-up, that’s all,’ said Liam quickly, not wanting to discuss his private affairs in public. He was aware that their voices had attracted the attention of the woman at the quayside, and she was looking at them over her shoulder.
She sensed their awareness of her interest and looked away, but not before Liam had registered an oval face and unusually dark eyes for a woman of her colouring. Of course her hair colouring might not be natural, which was probably the case, and although she was tall she was much too thin.
‘You’ll be getting this morning’s ferry,’ Jack was continuing, unaware of Liam’s distraction, and he forced himself to concentrate on what the man had said.
‘If I can,’ he agreed, accepting Jack’s assurances that Angus Gallagher would never turn him away, and when he looked back towards the jetty the woman was gone.
Rosa went back to the bed and breakfast, collected her things and was back at the terminal building in time to book her passage to Kilfoil. She supposed she looked like any other tourist, in her jeans and trainers, with a backpack over her shoulder. The other backpackers, queuing for their tickets, didn’t give her a second glance. Unlike the two men she’d seen earlier in the car park. Well, one of them, anyway. He’d certainly given her a thorough appraisal.
And found her wanting, she was sure. She’d definitely sensed his disapproval. But whether that was because he’d found her watching them, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.
Whatever, he had been attractive, she conceded, remembering his height—well over six feet, she estimated—and the broad shoulders filling out his crumpled shirt. She guessed he was one of the fishermen who, in increasingly smaller numbers, trawled these waters. He hadn’t looked like a tourist, and the man who had been with him had been wearing waders, she thought.
Still, she was unlikely to see either of them again—unless one of them was the captain of the vessel she was hoping to sail on. Maybe someone on the ferry would remember a pretty blond girl travelling out to Kilfoil the previous week. Dared she ask about Liam Jameson? She didn’t think so. According to his publicity, the man was reputed to be a recluse, for goodness’ sake. So why had he been attending a pop festival in Glastonbury? For research? She didn’t think so.
Her mind boggled, as it always did when she thought about what her mother had told her. Sophie had pulled some stunts before, but nothing remotely resembling this. Rosa had thought her sister was settling down at last, that she and Mark Campion might move in together. But now that relationship was all up in the air because of some man Sophie had met during the pop festival.
Rosa got her ticket and moved outside again. The rain that had been threatening earlier seemed to be lifting, and the sun was actually shining on the loch. A good omen, she thought, looking about her for the ferry she’d been told would be departing in three-quarters of an hour. Pedestrian passengers would be embarked first, before the vehicles that would drive straight onto the holding deck.
She saw the man again as she was waiting in line at the quayside. He had driven his car round to join the queue of traffic waiting to board. Unexpectedly, her pulse quickened. So he was taking the same ferry she was. What a coincidence. But it was unlikely he was going to Kilfoil. According to Mrs Harris at the guesthouse, Kilfoil had been deserted for several years before a rich writer had bought the property and restored the ruined castle there for his own use.
Liam Jameson, of course, Rosa had concluded, unwilling to press the landlady for too many details in case she betrayed the real reason why she was going to the island. She’d told her that she planned to photograph the area for an article she was writing on island development. But Mrs Harris had warned her that the island was private property and she would have to get permission to take photographs.
She lost sight of the man when she and her fellow passengers went to board the ferry. Climbing the steep steps to the upper deck, Rosa shivered as the wind cut through even her cashmere jacket. God, she thought, why would anyone choose to live here if they had the money to buy an island? Barbados, yes. The Caymans, maybe. But Kilfoil? He had to be crazy!
Still, she could only assume it gave him atmosphere for his horror stories. And, according to her sister, they were shooting his latest movie on the island itself. But was that feasible? Had the story Sophie had told Mark any truth in it at all? Rosa wouldn’t have thought so, but her mother had believed every word.
If only Jameson hadn’t involved Sophie, she thought unhappily. At almost eighteen, her sister was terribly impressionable, and becoming a professional actress was her ambition. But although she always maintained she was old enough to make her own decisions, she’d made plenty of bad ones in the past.
If she had met Jameson she would have been impressed, no question about it. His books sold in the millions. For heaven’s sake, Sophie devoured every new one as soon as it came out. And all his films to date had been box office successes. His work had acquired a cult status, due to an increasing fascination with the supernatural. СКАЧАТЬ