She was hardly in the front door before Michael jogged down the steps behind her, muttering as he entered the flat, ‘Bunch of bloody idiots! Lazy, incompetent fools!’
They hadn’t struck Kate as being any of those things but she was in no mood for an argument and made no reply. Instead she simply gave Michael a weary, speculative look as he closed the front door behind him. Exactly what had given him the idea that he was being invited inside? She very nearly asked him but then changed her mind; after all, he had come charging out from town to her aid, and hence could reasonably expect a little gratitude. Or at least basic courtesy. So she drew a deep breath and said, ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Eh? Oh, yes please. Black, no sugar.’
Kate made a wry face and led the way into the kitchen; how anyone could drink black coffee had always been a mystery to her. She liked hers white, and with two spoons of sugar in it to boot. She put on the kettle, her brain numb and wishing futilely that she were in bed. A visitor was the last thing she needed right then, and in fact she felt she would be quite happy if she never saw another human face again. Except perhaps... She cut off that thought and began organizing the cups and milk and sugar, saying briskly, ‘I hope you don’t mind instant, it’s all I have.’
He leaned his shoulders against a cupboard and made a face, ‘Well, it’ll do in lieu of anything better, I suppose. I like real coffee, as a rule.’
She gave him a bright, artificial smile, ‘I prefer instant, actually. I’ve never liked the percolated stuff. It’s never hot enough, either.’ Is this really happening? she wondered, Am I actually standing here discussing the merits of instant coffee versus percolated with a Minster of State? With whom I slept last night? Who just arrived at my door because I thought that the burglar I also ‘had’ last night, though in a very different sense, had returned? Apparently, yes. Weird but true. Had she stepped through Alice’s looking glass without realizing it or were some people’s lives like this all the time? If so she could only pity them.
She made the coffee and showed him into the sitting room, which still showed a few signs of the previous night’s devastation. Much she cared; if Michael didn’t like the mess he could simply sod off, and the sooner the better. It was only after they were sitting down, silently sipping coffee, that a positive side to the whole thing occurred to her. She had been dreading meeting him again, dreading the embarrassment she would feel for having leapt into bed with him on the very day they met. But right now embarrassment was the last thing on her mind. No, strike that; it was the second last thing on her mind. The very last thing on her mind was a repeat performance of the previous night’s activities. Right now she would laugh derisively at a pass from Antonio Banderas himself, her number one fantasy figure from her teenage years on. Not tonight, Antonio, she thought to herself, stifling an exhausted giggle. She also stifled the thought that she appeared to be quietly losing her mind.
Michael was quiet and seemed preoccupied, which suited Kate just fine, but at last be broke the silence by saying, ‘You say this guy rang the doorbell? Strange behavior for a burglar. Are you quite sure you don’t know him? That he wasn’t an old patient or something?’
‘I’m quite sure, thanks,’ said Kate with some asperity, ‘I never set eyes on him before in my life. Do you take me for some sort of idiot?’
‘Sorry. It’s just that…well, it’s hardly usual behaviour for a burglar, now is it? Perhaps he had nothing to do with last night at all. He might have been totally innocent and just had the wrong address or something.’
Kate opened her mouth to tell him that the man had known her name but then closed it again. She was too tired for a long discussion and pointless questions and debate. So she simply shrugged and said, ‘Maybe.’
After another long pause he asked suddenly, ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’
She shot him a somewhat alarmed look but then steeled herself against the worst and said, ‘What’s that, then?’
‘How did your session with Grainne go today?’
She was so tired -and relieved at the innocuousness of the question- that she actually opened her mouth to tell him but managed to catch herself in time. ‘I’m sorry, Michael, but you must know I can’t discuss that with you. Grainne’s an adult now and all our sessions together are classed as privileged information.’
He looked startled, almost offended, as he protested, ‘I’m her father!’
She shook her head wearily but firmly, ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s eighteen now and once she’s over the legal age of majority I’m forbidden from revealing anything we discuss. To anyone.’
He gave her a dark, brooding look from under knitted brows, ‘I suppose I just still think of her as my little girl. And I probably always will. I know I neglected her as a child and I suppose I’m over-anxious to make up for it now.’ He gave her a painful smile, ‘Guilt, of course, but there you are.’
There was a silence and then he said, ‘Can you at least tell me if you’re hopeful of eventually curing her?’
Kate had been pretty bullish with Trevor but Grainne’s family was a different matter; the last thing she wanted to do was build up his hopes prematurely. So she shrugged and said, ‘Cure is the wrong word. It’s not like a doctor curing an infection with antibiotics or something. With the human mind there are too many variables for us to make accurate predictions, especially in a case like Grainne’s, where there seems to be no clinical illness. There are no set rules, and so much depends on the individual patient. To a great extent they heal themselves. Or not. We can’t help much unless they want to be cured, and let us help. I can only say that I think Grainne has a pretty good chance of becoming well again someday.’
He gave her another brooding look, mingled with a touch of speculation, ‘I get the idea you wouldn’t even commit yourself that far unless you were pretty confident of success.’
Kate sighed, ‘I told you, there are too many imponderables for me to make any pretense at accuracy. Some people can survive almost anything, others fall apart under seemingly minor stresses. And we have drugs now that work miracles on people who would have been considered untreatable a few years ago. So the truth is that I just don’t know. But I’m always hopeful, no matter how lost a cause seems. And to me Grainne looks far from being a lost cause, though it’s still very early days. The only thing I can say for sure is that I’ll do everything within my power to help her. No matter how long it takes. And that’s a promise.’
His eyes were hidden in dark shadows but his face was serious, thoughtful, as he said, ‘I had a feeling you’d say something like that. I get the impression that you never give less than one hundred per cent commitment to anyone.’
His words reminded her uncomfortably of Peter, and his very different opinion on that subject, and she lowered her eyes without reply. But of course Peter had not been talking about her patients; she was always totally committed to them. She drank the last of her coffee and put the mug on the table, ‘Listen, it was very good of you to come out here like that tonight and I don’t want to appear rude but I really have to go to bed.’
He gave her a little grin that was probably meant to be cheeky but in fact simply appeared cocky. ‘I could go with you.’
She gave him a blank look in return, ‘No thanks. I’m tired and wrung-out, and if I’m honest I think last night might have been a big mistake.’
He looked a little offended and paused before saying, in a slightly too-earnest tone, ‘Listen, there’s something I want you to know about me. I don’t go in for casual sex or one night stands. And I don’t think you do either. Last night was something special for me. I never felt like that before with anyone, not on the first meeting. Not on first sight. So if you’ll feel safer with someone here with you my offer stands. And I’ll be just as happy alone on this sofa as in your bed with you.’
Kate smiled at him with more warmth and said, ‘Thank you. And I do appreciate the offer. But I’d rather be alone tonight, if that’s okay
.’
He nodded understandingly and got to his feet, ‘I’ll clear off out of your way, then.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said uncomfortably, ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Though, of course, she had.
He laughed and gave her a peck on the cheek, ‘I’m just teasing. And it’s probably best I don’t stay the night anyway. Some lousy reporter would only pick up on it and start pestering the life out of both of us. And it wouldn’t do my public image any good if I was seen spending the night with beautiful young women, I can tell you. In Italy my popularity ratings would go through the roof, but not in hypocritical old Ireland. That’s why I gave the chauffeur the night off. It’s the likes of them who are usually first to call the papers with the gossip. For a consideration, of course.’
Her mouth fell open in horror and she stared at him with wide eyes, ‘I never thought of the Press! What if they hear about tonight’s goings-on? And God only knows what the neighbors will tell them if they’re asked! What if one of them recognized you and rings up one of the tabloids?’
He shrugged, ‘I don’t think any of them did, but it in any case it doesn’t matter too much. I’m used to it, for one thing. For another, no matter what your neighbors told them it couldn’t be any worse than the things the press routinely make up by themselves. Don’t worry about it; if any reporters start asking questions I’ll fob them off. But I’d still like you to be careful who you talk to, and what you say. Just in case.’
Kate nodded, irritated that his first and only thought was for himself, with no heed paid to how she might feel about being the subject of such a newspaper article. Which, as it happens, was absolutely bloody aghast; she wasn’t a public figure, and didn’t want to become one. The thought of the press nosing into her private life... God, as if she didn’t have enough problems! They might drag up her childhood, the stuff that happened with Straub… Jesus! And the thought of being falsely named in the papers as Michael Riordan’s girlfriend -though no doubt the press would say mistress- filled her with horror too. What would Peter think of her then?
A cold voice said in her mind, That’s pretty immaterial now,isn’t it? Now that he’s gone? She shook her head in disgust; Peter might be gone from her life but she didn’t want him to hate her, or think she had...what? Slept with Michael? But she had. So anything Peter might care to think would be true, wouldn’t it? Oh, Christ, what a fucking mess!
She shook her head again, suddenly miserable, and Michael put his arms around her and said comfortingly, ‘Cheer up, it probably won’t happen!’ And then suddenly he was kissing her on the mouth, taking her so completely by surprise that at first she made no effort to stop him. It was only when his right hand slid down to caress her left breast that she recovered enough to pull away, ‘Michael, stop, please.’
He looked at her in surprise, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
She could understand his confusion; with her having jumped into bed with him on the first possible occasion it was natural for him to assume she was interested in him. And she couldn’t have said herself why that interest had faded more or less completely. So she spoke more gently than she wanted as she said, ‘I’m tired and confused and really not in the mood for this sort of thing. Besides, I’m not quite sure what happened between us last night. Or rather, why it happened, and I really need to think things through before...’ She shook her head, ‘Please, just go home. I’m so tired and fed up I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I’ll talk to you in a few days.’
He was looking at her doubtfully but finally nodded and said, ‘Okay. And if that guy comes back don’t hesitate to ring, day or night. I gave you my mobile number last night, didn’t I?’
She nodded and he said, ‘Good. Please use it. I’ll talk to you soon. And remember that although we’ve only just met I really do care about you.’
He kissed her gently on the cheek and turned and left the flat, with Kate only too happy to show him out. Talk about persistent; what the hell was wrong with the man? And how could he claim to care about someone he had only met the day before? She shook her head; she couldn’t think about him just then, she’d worry about it later. She watched him walking up the steps and then looked at her watch. Incredibly, it was only nine o’clock in the evening. It felt more like four a.m. or something. All she wanted to do was go to bed but then she thought of the flowers she had bought for Lucy and paused. Exhausted or not, she wanted to show her gratitude. Besides, delivering them now would also give her the chance to put out her own version of tonight’s events, and perhaps scotch any wild rumors before they started.
She got the bouquet and trotted grimly up the steps to the ground floor flat. She was just about to ring the bell when the front door opened and Lucy and Brendan walked out, stopping in surprise when they saw her. They had actually been on their way down to her place to check on her and now both began speaking at once, in a confused jumble of, ‘Kate, are you okay?’ and ‘Is anything wrong?’
Kate offered them the brightest smile she could muster and handed Lucy the flowers, ‘No, no, I’m absolutely fine. Lucy, these are just to say thank you so much for having me here last night, and for all your help this morning. You were great and I’m really very grateful to you both. And if there’s ever anything I can do in return please don’t hesitate to ask.’
‘Oh, those are lovely! But you really shouldn’t have! I believe in being a good neighbour for its own sake, you know. But tell us, why were the police here? Surely you weren’t burgled again?’
‘No, nothing like that. I just saw a strange man hanging about outside and panicked a bit. I suppose I’m still a bit jittery after last night’
Brendan nodded comfortably, ‘Of course. Well, you would be, wouldn’t you, after a scare like that? Would you like to stay with us again tonight? You know we have the room and you’d be more than welcome.’
‘No, I’ll be fine, thanks. A friend of mine fixed the door and had a burglar alarm installed so I’m perfectly safe now.’
Brendan nodded again and Lucy smiled, saying a touch archly, ‘Oh, I saw that friend! And very handsome he was too! I hope these flowers weren’t from him?’
Kate forced a smile, ‘No, of course not. I got them for you myself. And thank you again.’
She turned and fled, hating the smile on Lucy’s face and the knowing look in her eyes. Interfering old... Surely she hadn’t spoken to Peter earlier? Before she had gotten home? That would be just great! He had always been a big hit with elderly women, and God knows what he’d have told her about their relationship.
She reached street level again and was just about to go down to her own apartment when a dark figure some distance up the street caught her eye. She froze for a second but instantly realized, with relief, that this was not the same man who had been lurking outside earlier; this guy was much taller. So why had he caught her attention like that? He was moving away from her and at that moment he walked under a street light and provided her with the answer; it was Trevor Jordan. She stared at his retreating figure for several seconds; what the hell was he doing out this way? He was a northsider, a Swords man. And he clearly wasn’t here to visit her because at that moment he turned left and vanished from sight around the corner towards the main road.
She was baffled but there was no point in standing out there in the cold all night wondering about it so she hurried inside and locked up. No doubt there was a perfectly innocent explanation but she couldn’t imagine what it could be. She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it and began turning off all the lights. Then she walked into the bedroom and flung off her clothes, so tired and bemused that she abandoned the habits of a lifetime and just dropped them on the floor before almost collapsing into bed. But before she fell asleep her last thoughts were of her mysterious caller, and what he could have wanted with her. And, of course, the really important question of would he be back?
Chapter Eleven
Kate was lying fast asleep in her bed when a noise woke her. Her
eyes snapped open and she sat up with a start, instantly alert and with her heart pounding. What was that? She sat in the silent blackness for some time, straining to hear any fugitive noise, any sound that did not belong. But there was nothing, and after an endless minute her heartbeat slowed and she began to wonder if she had only imagined it. Or was it Peter, coming home unexpectedly and creeping about so as not to wake her? Then she heard a small, furtive noise outside her bedroom door. Suddenly the fear returned in a huge wave, filling her senses even as her mind struggled to assert that there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation behind the sound. It could even be a mouse or something.
Suddenly she was a child again rather than an adult, and could only sit and face the horrors of the night with a soundless scream trapped in her throat. She could not move, could not alter her fate; whatever would happen would happen to her, and she was too weak and powerless to prevent it.
The bedroom door burst open with a crash and a man charged into her room, growling like an animal in his hatred and rage. Her paralysis vanished and Kate screamed and rolled to one side, trying to get out of the bed, trying desperately to escape now that it was too late. For the man was too quick. He flung himself full-length onto the bed, on top of her, driving the breath from her body with a painful gasp, and he was strong, too strong for her to fight.
She tried, though, tried with all her might. She screamed and lashed out at him and struggled frantically to get away. And she almost succeeded in getting out of the bed as he momentarily recoiled from her ill-aimed but frantic blows and sharp, raking nails. But she could not get clear of the duvet quickly enough and he grabbed a handful of her long hair and hauled her back with an ease that spoke of terrifying strength. Then his right fist smashed into her face in a punch of stunning power, a punch that broke her nose and drove her back down onto the bed, dazed and bleeding and barely conscious, her arms and legs still moving but weakly, no longer the struggles of a woman fighting for her life but the feeble paddling of a drowning swimmer.
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