No More Lonely Nights

She was in shock, Sian realised at that instant. Her eyes held a dazed blankness that was rather worrying.

'To stay with a friend. He'll probably see you at the hospital.'

Annette was on her feet again. 'We must go!'

Cass came back before she reached the door, and stopped her. 'The toast is on its way, and I rang the hospital again. You couldn't see him even if you went now, because he's fast asleep.'

Annette sagged again and let him put her back on the chair, her slim body like that of a rag doll. Sian watched Cass's gentleness and a funny little ache started inside her. Considering the humiliation Annette had inflicted on him yesterday, he was amazingly kind to her and that must mean that he loved Annette very much. There was no rational explanation why that should bother Sian; she didn't really know either of them very well, yet that ache went on inside her and all her cool self-derision couldn't stop it.

The housekeeper brought the toast on a plate and looked at Annette in a muddled way—half sympathy, half resentment—before stamping out again. Annette didn't notice; she was past noticing anything. Sian put toast on her plate and offered her marmalade or honey.

Annette shook her head, ate the buttered toast with reluctance, as if it were sawdust, but at least had drunk her tea, into which Sian had stirred a heavy dose of sugar. Annette didn't appear to notice that, either.

She had almost finished her toast when a new arrival made them all start. They heard the bang of the front door, footsteps in the hall, then there was a whirl of skirts and a very beautiful girl hurtled into the room, her arms full of newspapers.

'Cass, I could kill her!' she began before she saw them all. Then she stared,

her jaw dropping, her lips parted on a gasp of furious incredulity.

She looked vaguely like her brother. Sian saw the family likeness—the black hair and pale eyes, the height, the pared bone structure and finely moulded features. Sian had never seen a photo of Magdalena, yet she felt at once that this was his sister.

'We'd better talk in the hall, Magda,' Cass said, confirming this, getting up and moving towards his sister.

'What's she doing here?' his sister demanded, flushing to her hairline, as she stared at Annette. Sian admired the white dress she wore; it was very simple, very chic. Magdalena's expression was in direct contrast; it was complicated and well-nigh barbaric. She was in a tearing temper, and scowled at Annette, who didn't seem aware that she was there at all, and went on drinking her tea with a blank expression.

'Out,' Cass said, taking his sister's arm, but she resisted him and stood her ground, glaring and getting angrier by the second.

'How can you bear to have her in the same room after what she did to you? My God, when I think about it! I didn't know where to look. I was so embarrassed, and last night people kept ringing up to sympathise… that's a joke! What they really wanted to do was winkle all the details out of me, have a good laugh! She humiliated us, not just you, Cass—the whole family! Have you read these papers? All the money you spend on public relations, I'd have thought they could keep this out of the gutter press. What do you pay them for?' She took a deep breath, but she hadn't finished. 'What's she doing here, anyway? One of the papers said she'd run off to some man in London, stood you up for one of your own staff! So why is she back? You can't be fool enough to consider giving her another chance? I won't let you. I…'

'Shut up,' Cass snarled, and her eyes rounded in shock.

He gripped her elbow and hustled her out of the room. Sian heard their voices rising and falling in the hall. Annette had finished her breakfast; she looked at her watch and made a husky little noise, a half-sob.

'Can't we go?'

The front door banged violently; the angry voices no longer snapped at each other.

'In a minute,' soothed Sian, watching the door of the room.

Cass came through it, frowning heavily, his skin dark with angry colour, his eyes glittering.

'Cass, we must go,' Annette pleaded, getting up, and he looked at her blankly for a second, then smiled reassurance.

'Yes, I'll get the car. Wait for me outside.'

Sian followed him into the hall, and he looked down at her impatiently as she caught up with him. 'Well, what now?'

'Look, I can't stay here much longer, you know. I do have my own life to lead. I've got to be back at work tomorrow, so I'll have to be back in London tonight.'

'Can't you take a few days off?' He ran a hand through his smoothly brushed hair until it all stood on end to match his distracted, irritated expression.

'I just did. I'm not entitled to any more.'

'Ring your paper and ask…'

'Ask my editor if I can stay?' Sian laughed shortly. 'Oh, he would say yes. He'd jump at it! He would also expect a follow-up to my first scoop—the latest inside dope on Annette's flight from the altar.'

Her dry tone made him scowl, staring. 'You could refuse to write it, couldn't you? If you really like Annette, you won't put her through any more.'