To Eternity. Daisy Banks

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СКАЧАТЬ Army, my dear. I was quite active during wartime. It was easier.”

      “Anyway, what do you think of their price list, their offers?” She nibbled at a piece of toast.

      He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve not much knowledge to make a comparison.”

      “Well, I think they’re impressive. I thought it might be a good idea to contact the director, Martha Raynalds. I checked her resume on their website. It looks good.”

      “Very well.” He flipped the pricing pamphlet over and caught a glimpse of the photograph of the director. “Dorothy Fowler?” he whispered.

      “No, Magnus, Martha Raynalds.” Sian got up from her seat at the breakfast table. “I have to do one final e-mail swoop of the team this morning. Then, once I get all the ‘I’m so happy’ replies, I’ll know everything is ready for the shoot. I’m itching to get it over with.”

      He smiled in response to her enthusiasm because he wholeheartedly agreed. Once this music film was complete, he’d close the door on Gorsewell Productions and so would Sian. His concern with her taking over the arrangements for the filming remained. If, while he recovered at the rest home, Franklyn Gorsewell so much as squeaked in her dreams, he’d face a reckoning. After this film shoot ended, there should be no more reason for Sian to have any contact with the obnoxious lout.

      Though she’d not said, not since the dreadful night when Franklyn had woken from the drug induced coma and the evil wretch had invaded her dream, he knew the jealous bastard still tried to lure her. Only yesterday Franklyn had called to her. Gorsewell was playing with the dream interactions. Magnus had sensed the slimy maggot’s presence once or twice in the aftermath of the dreams he’d shared with her as he and Sian had slept.

      The night he had sought vengeance and attacked Franklyn, he should have finished him off.

      He closed his eyes at the image of the blood-splattered apartment. Such a powerful memory should have held a kernel of satisfaction, but it didn’t, only a deep fear at what the beast’s bite could do.

      His initial gut instinct after Gorsewell attacked her in the dream, had been yes, here was one he would have to subdue. The visit to the hospital with Sian at the beginning of October had set him wondering at the possibilities. Franklyn suspected him for what he was—he’d sensed it. Hence, he’d given a sharp heads-up to a potential werewolf to know his place when in the presence of his creator.

      When he returned home with Sian, along with easing her fears, he’d tried to dismiss his initial thoughts as an overreaction to the situation. So much medical interference, the drips, the drugs, the blood transfusions, surely they must mean Franklyn remained a man.

      They must.

      Perhaps he should do a little investigating the day the film crew was here when Sian was busy. He’d find out what Gorsewell was up to in the rest home where he recuperated from his injuries. The wish that he’d gnawed at Gorsewell’s shoulder for longer nagged, an ever present concern. A huge sigh left him, for if Franklyn were to become a werewolf, his and Sian’s life would never be the same.

      The consequences of his carelessness would need time and effort to put right. He could not begin the process until, if Gorsewell were infected, the yob accepted the inevitable and came to his creator in deference. Somehow, he hoped that would never happen. Should Gorsewell change, then he would feel compelled to return here. Perhaps when he felt strong enough to challenge for Sian, he would.

      A prickle of sensation lifted the hairs on his arms. If Gorsewell wanted a fight, he’d be overjoyed to oblige. No twenty-first century spiv, the perfect description of Gorsewell, a furtive, cheating, greedy bully, would take the woman he adored. He took a swig of tea and swallowed. Presently he must await Gorsewell’s healing. He’d deal with the outcome when the first opportunity presented itself.

      Once he’d finished his cup of Earl Grey, he glanced at the promotional pages Sian had left for him, Green Girls and their company director. He looked again, certain this image could be no one but Dorothy Fowler. A finger above six feet tall, with a physique to match, she was able to down a pint of the Highwayman’s Rest’s Best Bitter as fast as any man. Dorothy had also shared other appetites as demanding. So many years had passed since he last saw the woman he remembered. But the sweep of fair hair from this girl’s wide forehead, the strong but attractive open features, he couldn’t doubt his memory. Yet Dorothy would be old now, in her eighties or nineties, not youthful and full of vigor, nor capable of shoving a wheelbarrow full of vegetables. A sudden inkling gave him gooseflesh.

      No, impossible.

      Damn it, he’d call the gardening company this morning as soon as they opened to find out if his intuition was right.

      * * * *

      “Thank you, Mrs. Tyson. We’d be most pleased. Sian and I have enjoyed all the meals Cook has so far presented. Yes, of course, I understand. You have my thanks.” He set the phone on its cradle before picking it up to call through to the study where Sian worked for much of each day to prepare for the filming. “Can we talk for a few moments?” he asked.

      “Hi, Magnus, I’ll just click this thing. There, yes, done. Now, you have my full attention.”

      “Mrs. Tyson has rung through to me. It would appear, since I’d not told her of other plans, Cook has taken it on herself to present us with a fine Bonfire Night meal tomorrow evening, including a Neapolitan Bombe for dessert.”

      “A what?”

      “It’s an amaretto-laced mousse.”

      “Oh, will you want fireworks, too, Magnus?”

      “Good grief, no. We’ll make our own.” The low chuckle in response warmed his blood. “I do think I’ve discovered a surprise of my own to share with you. One I hope you’ll understand.”

      “Of course, I will. I’ll meet you for lunch. You can tell me all about it then. I’m afraid I have to go. The bass player in Dreams is having a bit of a meltdown. His girlfriend is in rehab and he doesn’t want to be too far away from her for too long. I need to dole out a lot of reassurance.”

      “No doubt he will be grateful. You’re so good at reassurance. I’ll meet you in the dining room at one.” He set the phone down. When focused on others in this way, her voice always made him smile. Part of his desire for her originated from her rare generosity of spirit. His confidence she would understand what he’d discovered this morning remained high.

      Sian’s passion for beauty encapsulated the needs of body and spirit as well as aesthetic pleasures. He’d never met another woman like her. Julia had demonstrated a similar ability to meet him in dreams, but she had possessed nothing like Sian’s talents to control him, or the bountiful spirit to offer herself in such an unconditional way. Julia had never given herself in the same manner, despite her promises of love. When faced with the question of their marriage, Julia had obeyed the will of her father, who had thought him a wastrel, and she had declined. He shrugged his shoulders. The heartbreak from so long ago seemed as though it belonged to another person, yet at the time he’d thought her refusal permanently stole every hope of joy.

      No, not that, for he had dreamed and hoped still, even when he reached Italy. Julia had dreamed with him. When those interactions ceased, he’d been full of fears for her. His return from the continent to find Julia dead shattered him.

      Sian was something so much more than Julia had ever been, vibrant СКАЧАТЬ