Stay Through The Night. Anne Mather

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      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.

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