No More Lonely Nights

'Shut up,' she muttered, stumbling over a fallen branch on the path.

Cass halted her with one hand and a second later had lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, as if she were a sack of potatoes.

Sian gave a cry of wordless protest, and he slapped her lightly on the behind. 'You're in no state to walk, so stop arguing!'

He was right, but she gave him a token kick in the ribs, all the same, and heard him grunt in surprise.

'What was that for? I'm only trying to help you, and if you had a shred of honesty you'd admit I was right.'

'Why do you think I kicked you? I hate people who are always so sure they're right, even when they are!'

He laughed shortly then. 'I don't think I'll ever understand what makes you tick! You're a mystery to me, but then, most women are incomprehensible to most men.'

He gently deposited her in the car and they drove off through the falling night. Sian closed her eyes and half drowsed, in a drained state of sleepy contentment. It was only as they drove up towards his aunt's house that she realised that he had successfully put a stop to her questions about the car crash

.

Mrs Cassidy met them on the front steps of her home. 'My dear Sian, this is terrible! Are you sure you're well enough to leave hospital? You look so pale. I can't tell you how sorry I am! I blame myself.'

'It wasn't your fault.' Sian smiled wearily at her.

'But you were a guest in my house! I apologise, for my whole family!'

Sian looked hard at her, then at Cass, whose face was blank.

'OK,' he said curtly. 'Now we've got that out of the way, shall we get her to bed before she passes out again?'

His aunt said with dignity, 'Of course, right away, but I wanted to apologise before anything else.'

'Thank you,' Sian said, smiling at her again.

'I'll take you up to your room.' Mrs Cassidy turned towards the stairs.

'Oh, my luggage was in my car!' Sian paused, frowning, and Cass said quietly, 'I had it taken out. It's in your room now. And your car is at the local garage, being repaired.'

'Thanks.' She followed his aunt without looking his way again.

'Are you hungry, my dear? What would you like to eat? It can be sent up to your room—an omelette? Or…'

'Omelette would be wonderful,' Sian said, quite hungry now that she actually thought about it.

'I'll order it right away.' Mrs Cassidy opened a door. 'I hope this room is comfortable enough for you. Why don't you get into bed and I'll send up your supper at once, so that you can get to sleep quickly. You're sure a meal won't keep you awake? I couldn't eat at this hour, but when I was young I remember I had a cast-iron digestion—what about you?'

Sian laughed. 'I think I'll sleep tonight, whatever I eat! I could sleep on a clothes-line after the day I've had!'

The older woman's face clouded over again. 'Yes, I'm sure. When I think what could have happened! Why, you might have been killed! I'm so appalled, my dear. That one of my own family could do such a thing!'

Sian tensed, watching her intently, but at that moment Mrs Cassidy glanced back and they both saw Cass on the top stair, watching them, listening. Mrs Cassidy excused herself and went back to join him, and Sian wryly closed the bedroom door.

The room was enchanting: a very feminine room with delicate pink curtains, a silver-shot cream wallpaper, a pink carpet and a modern four-poster bed with floor-length curtains of white gauze. The bed-linen was just as delightful: a lace bedspread over a pink broderie anglaise duvet cover and lace-frilled pink pillows. Sian went into the en-suite bathroom and changed into her nightdress after washing, and inspecting her dramatically bandaged head. She noted wryly that she was looking distinctly pale and interesting, but she no longer had a headache.

She had just climbed into bed when there was a knock at her door. 'Come in!' she called, and then felt a jab of alarm when she saw Cass walking towards her. 'What do you want?' she asked, stiffening against the high-piled pillows, before she noticed the tray he carried. She had been too busy looking at his face to see what he had in his hands.

'Your omelette.' He deftly adjusted the tray which suddenly had hinged legs which fitted neatly over Sian's lap on the bed, turning the tray into a table.

'How clever!' she commented as he whisked a silver cover off to reveal the golden half-moon of the omelette.

'My aunt's housekeeper filled it with tomatoes and mushrooms and herbs,' he said as she eyed the plate.