No More Lonely Nights

William Cassidy nodded, then said impatiently, 'Look, if you're taking me there, will you get dressed at once? There's no time to be lost.'

'I won't be two minutes,' she promised, hurrying back to her bedroom. She flung on the first clothes she found; pale blue denim trousers and a loose pink top which she belted at the waist with a silvery chain. She didn't bother to put on make-up, and simply knotted her blonde hair at the nape with a blue ribbon. In the mirror her face was oddly alive—green eyes very bright, skin flushed. That was strange, because she should have been sleepy or pale; she had been woken out of deep sleep and given a series of shocks. She didn't have time to investigate her own strange reactions, though. She ran back down the hall and found William Cassidy waiting at the door.

He hustled her out of the flat, but managed at the same time to run a glance over her and make her prickle with aggression. That cool, go-to-hell look of his made her want to hit him. She might not be dressed to kill, she might even look very flustered, but what did he expect? He had asked her to hurry, or she would have taken more trouble with how she looked. What business was it of his, anyway? Sian didn't care what he thought of how she looked.

He had a car waiting outside; in the yellowish gleam of the street lamps she admired the sleek limousine, a classy dark blue shade on the chassis, the upholstery a power-blue leather. As he helped her into the passenger seat, she thought grimly that she could very soon get used to travelling in this luxury. Her body sank into the deep upholstery and she leaned back, staring up at the dark sky above London. If Annette was asleep, her awakening was going to be painful. Sian sighed. This had been quite a day for both of them, and what would the next day bring—for Annette, at least?

William Cassidy slid in beside her and the engine purred into life. When it moved off the car seemed to glide, but at speed; she felt as if they were flying, and watched his hands on the wheel with hypnotised fascination. What did it feel like to have this beautiful machine throbbing in your hands? Sian had to admit he handled it with cool mastery, those long-fingered hands relaxed even though he was driving fast at times on the empty city roads. Most of London was asleep; she almost felt that the two of them were the only ones awake, silent and alone together in their entranced, mysterious city.

Once William Cassidy had found the suburb to which she had taken Annette, Sian had to guide him, from memory, to the street itself. When they pulled up outside the small, terraced yellow-brick house, he leaned on the wheel, his dark head lowered as he stared with a frown.

'You brought her here? Why here?'

'That's for Annette to tell you.' She wondered how much he knew or guessed about Annette's motive in running away, about his rival. Was he going to get another shock when he found out? There was no reason why she should find that upsetting, but she did, oddly enough. So far she hadn't got the impression that William Cassidy was vulnerable or easily hurt, but he was a man and had feelings, and Sian bit her lip as he got out of the car.

She joined him on the pavement, grabbing his arm. 'Break it gently, won't you?' she pleaded. He looked down at her in surprise, as if he had already forgotten who she was, then smiled suddenly.

'Of course I will. Don't worry. I care about her, you know.'

Sian felt an odd little stab right below the ribs, an inexplicable pain which made her frown as she followed him up the narrow little pathway to the front door, shivering in the cold night air. It was a very clear night, the stars were white fire and very close, you could almost touch them, but they would burn your fingers if you did, she thought crazily, trying to bury the memory of that strange, worrying jab of pain. She had only just met William Cassidy; he was nothing to her, so why should she be concerned about his feelings for anyone else?

'Cold?' he asked her then, ringing the front-door bell. 'I've got an overcoat in the car, I'll get it for you.'

He went back with quick, lithe steps while lights came on in the rooms upstairs, and voices sounded—anxious, puzzled, startled voices. Sian thought she picked up the note of Annette's voice, then William Cassidy came back with a smooth black cashmere overcoat which he draped casually around her shoulders. She was far shorter than he was, and it hung down almost to her feet, but it was very warm and she snuggled into it with a sigh of gratitude.

'Thank you.'

He looked down at her, then suddenly grinned. 'If you could see yourself…' His amusement died as the front door opened and a young man faced them, defiant and pale.

'Wesley?' William Cassidy looked utterly taken aback, and the other man squared himself up, as if expecting to have to fight.

'You aren't taking her back. She won't see you,' he said, in a deep yet not quite steady voice. He was much closer to Annette's age, maybe in his early twenties, thought Sian, amazed that Annette could prefer this smooth-faced boy with the very ordinary looks to someone as impressive as William Cassidy. It wasn't simply that Cass had more money, or the sort of power that could confer glamour on a man, but he was unquestionably the better-looking of the two. Cass was bigger, taller, with a more forceful and commanding face; his features were powerful yet elegant, with razor-cut bones, and hypnotic grey eyes.

Rick, on the other hand, was fair and a little ungainly, with worried blue eyes and a firmly moulded mouth. Why did Annette care so much for him? But then, why did any woman fall in love? You couldn't compute it, it didn't respond to logic or common sense; it was just a runaway emotion that took its victim headlong into passion, and Sian envied Annette, if she was truthful. She had never felt like that for anyone. If she had cared more for Louis, she wouldn't have let her job keep them apart. She wouldn't have let anything keep them apart. She had liked him, but she hadn't been mad enough about him to abandon everything else, the way Annette just had.

'I'm afraid I've got bad news for her,' Cass said in a low voice, and Rick Wesley frowned, uncertain yet disturbed.

'Bad news?' He kept his voice down, glancing over his shoulder. No doubt Annette was hovering there, out of sight but within earshot.

'Her father had a heart attack. He's in hospital, in intensive care.' William Cassidy's voice was still subdued, and Rick leant towards him to hear, his face very white.

'Oh, my God, no!'

'I'm afraid so.' Cass watched the younger man with a frowning compassion. 'Will you tell her or…'

'She's upset already. She looked out of the window and saw it was you. How can I tell her this?' Rick made a gesture as if he were wringing his hands, and shivered. He was in pyjamas and dressing-gown, his bare feet pushed into slippers, his hair untidy. Sian watched and thought how young he looked, how helpless. He didn't have a clue how to deal with this crisis.

'What do I say?' he asked Cass, who wryly glanced sideways at Sian.

'Do you think you might… ?'

'Yes, I'll tell her,' she agreed, although she thought Annette might prefer to hear this from Rick. As they all began to enter the house, Annette herself appeared on the stairs, very pale in a green cotton wrap, her hand holding the neck of it, her eyes big and glazed with fear and suspense.

'You promised not to tell him where I was,' she accused Sian huskily, looking at her in reproach.

'I'm sorry, Annette, I had to!' Sian said, going towards her.

The other girl backed away, shaking her head. 'What did he pay you? I thought I could trust you. It just shows, you should never trust anybody!'