Night Fires

But he was awake. When she accelerated at a traffic light, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

‘Better watch that,’ he said with a little laugh. ‘That’s how I did myself in.’

‘I didn’t want to disturb you—you were sleeping.’

He went on staring at her for a moment, and then he turned his head and looked out of the windscreen. ‘It’s too late for that, Gabrielle.’

Her heart turned over. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Why wouldn’t you take my calls today?’

Her mouth went dry. ‘Must you keep asking me that?’

‘I spent half last night thinking about you,’ he said.

And I spent half last night thinking about you, too, she thought. But it wasn’t the same.

‘We had a nice evening,’ she said stiffly, her eyes on the road. ‘But…’

‘But you’d decided you weren’t going to see me again.’

Startled, she looked over at him. He was watching her narrowly, his face dark and unreadable.

‘Yes,’ she said after a pause. ‘That’s right, I did.’

James shifted in the seat. ‘Can you tell me why?’

She swallowed drily. ‘I—I can’t, no. It’s too complicated.’

His hand closed over hers. ‘Is it because you don’t trust me?’

A pulse beat in her throat. ‘Why do you say that?’ she whispered.

He sighed and leaned his head back. ‘The day I came to your shop, you were full of questions about the way we’d met and the things I knew about you.’

Her laughter was forced. ‘I was, yes. But you can’t blame me for that. Alma says it’s because I’m from the north.’

He smiled. ‘She’s right. New Yorkers are the most suspicious lot in the world.’

Gabrielle’s smile vanished. ‘I didn’t say I was a New

Yorker, James. How did you ?’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No.’ Her voice was sharp.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m sure you did.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘But you are from there, aren’t you?’ She nodded, reluctantly, and he laughed easily. ‘Well, then, it was a lucky guess. I went to university in the city; I can still tell a New York accent without half trying.’

Gabrielle drew a deep breath, then let it out. What he’d said made sense. On one of her college courses, the teacher had been able to determine where the students were from by the way they spoke.

‘But I don’t blame you for not being ready to trust just anybody, Gabrielle. It’s a mistake not to question motives. You’d be a fool not to have learned that by now.’

This time, his words sent a chill dancing along her spine. ‘What do you mean?’

His hand tightened on hers until she feared her bones would be crushed, and then the pressure eased. When he spoke, his tone was light and teasing.

‘I’d have thought beautiful women learned to distrust half the men in the world by the time they passed puberty. But you can trust me, of course.’

She looked at him. ‘Can I?’

He flashed her a quick smile. ‘How could anyone not trust a man with his trousers sliced open?’

His eyes were warm, his expression open, and finally Gabrielle smiled too.

‘How, indeed?’ she said.

James grinned. ‘I’ll remedy that as soon as we reach my hotel. Turn right at the next corner.’

Maison Lillian was a small, elegant building several blocks from La Vie en Rose. Delicate wrought-iron balconies graced its upper stories, and Gabrielle could imagine the way the hotel would look when the weather warmed and sultry greenery hung from the balconies and trellised walls.

She pulled in before the hotel, ignoring the ‘no parking’ sign, then hurried around to the passenger side of the car so she could help James on to the pavement.

‘If you don’t behave, I’ll take you back to the hospital and hand you over to the nurse,’ she said when he protested. She hovered beside him as he edged his way up the narrow steps that led to the lobby. ‘Can you manage?’

He nodded. ‘No problem.’

But she saw the beads of sweat on his forehead, and she was glad when they topped the final step and entered the hotel. James moved slowly towards the reception desk. The concierge looked up, her face crumpling with concern when she saw him.

‘Mr Forrester! What happened?’

James smiled reassuringly. ‘Just a little accident, madame. If I could have my key?’

She nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said, taking a key from the board behind her. Her forehead creased in thought as she handed it over. ‘You’ll never manage the stairs, Mr Forrester. Not like that.’

James frowned. ‘You’re right, of course. How foolish of me.’

Gabrielle looked from him to the concierge. ‘Isn’t there an elevator?’

He shook his head. ‘Not since yesterday. It’s an old one…’

‘An antique, Mr Forrester,’ the concierge said quickly. James smiled, but Gabrielle thought she could see the exhaustion that underlay it. .

‘As madame says, the elevator’s an antique. It’s going to take some time to get the proper parts to repair it.’ The woman nodded again. ‘Exactly.’

‘A different room, then, madame’l Something on this level?’

The concierge frowned. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Forrester, but it’s almost Carnival. We have no rooms.’

‘The next floor, then. I can manage ’

‘We have no rooms,’ the woman repeated. ‘None at all.’

Gabrielle put her hand on James’s shoulder. ‘That’s all right,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ll find you a room elsewhere.’

Madame’s thin brows rose delicately. ‘Are you from New Orleans, mademoiselleV

‘No. Well, yes, yes, I am, but I’m new ’

‘You are indeed, or you would know there are no rooms available only days before mardi gras’ She dismissed Gabrielle with a wave of her hand. ‘I shall have the bellman pack your luggage and bring it down while I make enquiries for you, Mr Forrester, but where you’ll be able to find a suitable room in New Orleans now is anybody’s guess.’

Hours later, the woman’s patronizing words had proven all too true. Gabrielle had driven through the streets of the Quarter, then through the Garden District and the Downtown area, but the story was the same at each hotel.

All rooms had been booked weeks and months in advance. The doorman at one of the larger hotels had taken pity on them; he’d given them the name of a woman who took in boarders. She had no rooms, either, but she gave Gabrielle a list of rooming houses that took her in all directions, only to hear the same message.

James had waited in the car. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he’d insisted the first few times, but finally he’d simply nodded when Gabrielle said it was foolish for them both to make enquiries. ‘All right,’ he’d said, and his quick acquiescence, coupled with the drawn expression on his face, caught at Gabrielle’s heart.

‘Are you in pain, James?’ she’d asked softly.

‘No, of course not,’ he’d said. But it had needed no crystal ball to know he was lying.

By nightfall, the Toyota was parked outside a dilapidated old house in one of New Orleans’ less desirable neighbourhoods. Gabrielle sighed as she opened the door and got into the car.

‘Don’t tell me,’ James said. ‘There’s no room at the inn.’

Gabrielle looked at him. His tone was light, but she knew it masked his exhaustion. She could see his face clearly in the pool of light from a street lamp. He looked worn and vulnerable, and her heart went out to him.

Where next? she thought. She’d run through the list the doorman had given her. There was no place left to try. If only she knew someone with a spare room.

Her pulse quickened. No, she couldn’t do that. It was impossible…

‘Look,’ he said tiredly, ‘you’ve done more than enough. Why not drive me back to Maison Lillian and I’ll throw m