War Of Love. Carole Mortimer

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      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘SATIN!’ Henry cried protestingly as, much to Silke’s amazement, her mother pushed her chair back and rushed from the room, a hunted look on her ravished face.

      And Silke was amazed—because, as far as she knew, her mother had never run from a situation in her life!

      Or maybe, just maybe, her mother had been running all her life...?

      Silke had never quite looked at her mother’s unsettled life in that way before, but in retrospect, with her mother’s reaction to ‘Hal’, perhaps there was another reason than wanderlust for her mother having travelled so much in her life in the way that she had. It—

      ‘I knew it,’ Henry gasped from across the room. ‘I thought—I hoped it might be true when I first saw you, Silke, but once you had told me your name—!’ He shook his head dazedly.

      ‘Satin’ and Silke...

      ‘—I just knew it had to be true,’ Henry continued wonderingly—before promptly collapsing.

      For the second time that day!

      But this time Silke knew exactly what to do, getting one of the pills from the bottle in his breast pocket, forcing it into his mouth, down on her haunches beside him as she waited for the pill to begin to work.

      Except that this time he still looked ashen when he regained consciousness, though considering this was the second attack he had had in as many hours, that wasn’t surprising. Besides, this time he had fallen too, albeit on to a carpeted floor.

      Silke smiled at him reassuringly as he blinked up at her dazedly. ‘I’m going to call for an ambulance,’ she told him gently, not wanting to alarm him further, but knowing he really should see a doctor this time.

      He swallowed hard, shaking his head. ‘Call Lyon,’ he bit out, in obvious pain still. ‘He’ll know what to do.’

      She didn’t doubt for a moment that Lyon Buchanan would know exactly what to do! She also knew she shouldn’t let her aversion to him influence her actions when this elderly man’s health was at stake. But the very thought of seeing Lyon Buchanan again...!

      ‘Please call Lyon.’ Henry looked up at her pleadingly, grey eyes dull with pain.

      ‘Of course I will,’ Silke instantly assured him, swallowing down her own aversion to seeing that hateful man again—so much for her being sure she would never have any reason to do so! And she had her mother’s strange behaviour to deal with yet, too. ‘But first, do you feel well enough to move over to the chair?’ she prompted encouragingly.

      His eyes brightened slightly. ‘Satin’s chair?’ he suggested hopefully.

      There was that ridiculous name for her mother again... Silke really had to find out the story behind that. But not yet. Right now she had something more important to deal with. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she nodded agreement, helping Henry to his feet, holding his arm supportively as he swayed slightly.

      The look of supreme satisfaction on the face of the elderly man as he sat in the chair Silke’s mother had so recently fled from—to where?—was almost painful to see, Henry relaxing back in the leather chair with a relieved sigh, his eyes closed, his thoughts goodness knew where. Silke intended finding out exactly where as soon as she could find her mother—if she hadn’t done one of her flits again. And, knowing her mother as well as she did, Silke wouldn’t put that past her, either!

      But for the moment she put thoughts of her mother to the back of her mind, concentrating on what she had to do here and now—and that was telephone Lyon Buchanan!

      The telephone number of Buchanan’s was in the file on her mother’s desk, the switchboard immediately putting her call through to Lyon Buchanan’s secretary.

      ‘Could I ask the reason for the call?’ the woman asked warily once Silke had identified herself.

      She wouldn’t put it past Lyon Buchanan to have instructed his secretary to vet any calls from Jordan’s Miracles! ‘It’s personal,’ she snapped unhelpfully, feeling immediately guilty for allowing her resentment towards Lyon Buchanan to affect her response as she glanced across the room and saw how pale and haggard Henry still looked. ‘I have to talk to Mr Buchanan immediately,’ she added more urgently.

      There was a click, a short pause—very short!—and then the arrogantly sure voice Silke recognised only too well came on the line. ‘I thought we had concluded our earlier—conversation, Miss Jordan,’ Lyon Buchanan drawled contemptuously.

      Silke still cringed when she thought of that double-edged conversation, wishing now that she had never engaged in such a futile verbal battle with this particular man. It had been an act of bravado on her part, not to say childish, and it made talking to him now all the more difficult. ‘It’s Henry,’ she said without preamble—she still didn’t know the surname of the elderly man, and at the moment he didn’t look capable of telling it to her. ‘He’s collapsed again, and—’

      ‘My God,’ Lyon Buchanan exploded. ‘What have you done to him now?’

      Her cheeks burned with indignation. ‘I haven’t done anything to him!’ Henry was actually asleep at the moment. ‘He—’

      ‘Where are you?’ Lyon Buchanan interrupted harshly.

      ‘At the agency. But—’

      ‘I’m on my way,’ he told her coldly. ‘Just don’t do anything else to him before I get there!’ He slammed his receiver down, the noise resounding in Silke’s ear.

      Silke slammed her own receiver down too—and then glanced guiltily at Henry. But he continued to sleep—thank goodness.

      Just what did the Lyon think she had ‘done’ to his uncle? Remembering the conversation they had had earlier, she could make a pretty accurate guess. My God, the arrogance of the man; did he really think that because she had denied being an out-of-work actress her other line of business had to be...? He did think that, she was sure of it from his tone of voice just now. He probably believed his uncle had collapsed again because they had been— Arrogant, arrogant swine!

      She could not remember ever feeling this angry in her life before, not even once she had got over the initial pain of James’s defection on the eve of their wedding. And it was an anger that didn’t lessen as the time ticked by!

      ‘You look just like your mother when you’re angry, my dear.’