Burning with Passion

‘I’m glad we understand each other. Goodnight, Caitlin.’

He didn’t wait for a reply.

She stepped out into the fresh air after him, watched him depart, then vomited over the balcony on to the garden below. She cleaned her mouth with water from the garden tap and braced herself to go back inside. It wasn’t easy. She felt very shaky.

She closed the front door behind her and leaned back against it, shuddering. Michael Crawley was a venomous snake. She desperately needed an antidote for his poison. But what? The worst of it was he had spoken the truth. David’s trust in her had been destroyed.

Her gaze wandered aimlessly around and struck the decorative red hearts pinned to the walls to hold the streamers. Tears welled up in her eyes. Some Valentine’s Day this had been! Michael Crawley was as deadly as Al Capone. He might as well have machine-gunned her heart. She felt as though she was bleeding to death.

Then the strains of the music being played in the lounge-room impinged on her consciousness. The tune was hauntingly familiar, drawing her into listening for the words. One phrase was all she needed to hear. Recognition hit her like another wound to her heart—the theme song from the movie, Ghost—’Unchained Melody’.

It was so beautiful, expressing such a deep, yearning love...a love that could no longer be fulfilled in this life, yet a love that would go on burning forever. Was she doomed to be cut off from David before they had ever fully expressed what they meant to each other, wrenched apart by the evil of another man?

Her father’s voice joined that of the singer, drawing Caitlin to the doorway. Through a haze of tears, she saw her parents dancing together, gazing into each other’s eyes as though there was no one else in the world. Her mother started singing, too.

As Caitlin watched her parents slowly circling the floor, so touchingly in tune with each other after all these years, she vowed she would win back David’s trust. And his love. It was not impossible and she wouldn’t let it be.

She needed him.

She wanted him.

She would have him.

He, too, had been lonely most of his life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CAITLIN arrived at the office at eight o’clock. The cleaning staff was packing up, ready to leave. She presented Michael Crawley’s roses to one of the women, the basket of gifts to another. She borrowed a can of air-freshener to get rid of the scent of roses. As far as was possible she eliminated the loathsome reminders of that poisonous man.

She found her letter of resignation still on her desk. She left it there. She found a message on the fax machine that probably spelt death to her hopes, but there was nothing she could do about it. She left it there. She went to the ladies’ room. Her need to go was working overtime this morning. Her mother was right about nerves. Caitlin had never felt so nervous in her life.

She checked her appearance again, fretting over her choice of clothes. Maybe she should have worn the green dress David liked. But he might remember he had complimented her on it and think she was trying to be seductive. She had selected the red suit because it was a bold colour and she needed to be bold this morning. Unfortunately it had the effect of showing up the pallor of her face, the obvious sign of strain and fatigue.

It had been a long night. She had covered David’s departure by simply saying he had to return to Sydney. She had let Michelle and Trevor and her mother interpret that any way they liked. When the party had ended, she had driven two of the guests home to Yarramalong, and they were so appreciative of the favour that they didn’t mind her driving their car on to The Last Retreat and leaving it there so she could pick up her bubble car.

On the drive back to Sydney she hadn’t felt constrained to keep up a happy façde, but there had been no relief for her churning mind. She’d had only minimal patches of sleep in the few hours left before she had to rise for an early start to work. She wondered if David had fared any better. Did he have any doubts about his decision to leave her with Michael Crawley?

She puzzled over what Crawley had said about David’s mother as she returned to her office. How could he use the fact that David breakfasted with his mother every morning to his advantage? It made no sense to her. Some derogatory comment about David’s being a Mummy’s boy was surely all he could get out of it. That wouldn’t wash far. David was clearly not the kind of wimp the term suggested.

Yet why was David so assiduous in keeping to that schedule? Did his mother have some kind of hold on him? How did such constant contact with his mother tie in with the loneliness he had supposedly known? Why hadn’t he ever taken Caitlin home with him?

So many questions that needed answering.

It was eight twenty-two when she re-entered the office. David would arrive at eight-thirty. He was a man of rigid routine. His first action would be to check if any transmissions had come through on the fax machine overnight. Which meant her office was the first stop.

Caitlin watched the minutes crawl by. She couldn’t make up her mind how best to face David. Should she be sitting at her desk, or standing? Would it look presumptuous if she sat as though prepared to start a day’s work? At least that would put the desk between her and David. Coward, she berated herself. He wouldn’t throw her out bodily. Or would he?

Eight-thirty.

She stood behind her desk, beside her chair. To her left was her computer and printer. Behind her was the fax machine. To her right were the filing cabinets. Beyond the filing cabinets and in front of her was the door.

It started to open.

Caitlin gripped the backrest of her chair, fingers digging into the fabric. She could feel the throb of her pulse in her temples. Her heart was pumping in overdrive. Her stomach was in spasmodic revolt.

David did not stride in with his usual electric vitality. The door stood open for several moments, as though he was reluctant to enter, perhaps recoiling from any reminder of his intimate relationship with a woman who had supposedly betrayed his confidence. Then he stepped inside, grim-faced, resolute, but there was a haggard look about his eyes that spoke of lack of sleep, lack of any interest in the day ahead of him.

He stopped dead when he saw her. His body tensed. His face sharpened. His eyes blazed with anger. ‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped.