He heard Ben’s exhale. “I can’t tell you how happy I am about that. I’m floundering here.”
Ben never floundered, but the job running the overseas teams was one he wasn’t familiar with, so Ryan didn’t contradict his boss. “I’ve been invited to a tribute ceremony for Emily next week. I’ll represent the station as a guest, make sure John covers it, and catch the first flight out.”
*****
On Sunday evening, Andie pushed open the door to the house she’d always known as home. She flicked on the light and breathed in the musty air. A pile of post lay behind the door, and she stooped to pick it up, then placed it on the small table to the left.
Mementos of a previous life were there with each step. The sampler made by Gran as a child, framed on the wall. A dusty rubber plant, needing water. Then the odd collection of walking sticks and faded umbrellas in the circular brass pot that had always held them. The sitting room was chilled. She flicked on a light, then went back to bring in things from the car.
It took two trips. In the second, she brought the canvas she’d painted in the garden under Brianne’s careful tutelage. She carried her painting into the kitchen, and propped it on the floor against the cupboards. She felt a smile on her lips as she gazed at the shades of blue, Bri’s words echoing in her mind. “Go big! Be brave! Look at it. The delphinium is such a majestic flower, Andie. You can’t possibly paint it two inches tall.”
Bri had waved at the canvas. “Look at the space you’ve got to fill.”
Emboldened, Andie’d painted a high swathe of color, rejecting her instinctive need to carefully, cautiously create, in fear of making a mistake. For what were mistakes, really, in the scheme of things? If she made a hames of it, she could always paint over—begin again. By stepping out of her comfort zone she gave birth to the possibility she might create a masterpiece.
The result stood before her. Hardly a masterpiece, but a picture recognizably a delphinium in all its shades of blue and iridescent purple. One that thrilled her with its adventurous strokes and bold execution. A tangible representation of the new Andie. One who would strive to be more open. Less fearful.
She made a cup of tea, and thought back over the past couple of days.
When Brianne had revealed she’d hoped Ryan would stay, and the reason, pain had clenched Andie’s heart. The day after he left was the anniversary of their mother’s death—a time no one should have to face alone. She and Brianne had faced it together. The sharing of grief had been cleansing and comforting for them both.
They’d watched Ryan’s broadcast, and while Brianne commented on the clever questions and masterful way he led Arnat through the interview, Andie focused only on Ryan. How his hands moved as he spoke. How the camera’s lens caught the intensity in his green eyes. How much she missed him.
In the days that followed, they’d painted in the garden, and when the anniversary of Brianne’s mother’s death came, lit a candle to remember her. Bri shared stories of her mother, as much as she was able. When it all got too much, they’d curled up on the sofa and watched an old Bond film, laughing at the dialogue, and the ridiculous names given to the Bond girls.
As Ursula Andress strode from the sea, Andie’s mind had flicked back to Ryan standing before her in the garden, making a quip about her only needing a knife strapped to her thigh. It would have to be that particular Bond film, wouldn’t it?
When the weekend was over, they’d embraced by the car.
“Whatever happens, you and I are friends forever,” Bri had whispered. “I’ll call you next week.”
“I’m going to paint the house. Maybe you’ll come down for a visit?”
Bri threw her bag into the back of her sports car. “Try keeping me away. I’ll call if I have any news.”
Ryan’s name hadn’t been mentioned, but his remembered presence hung in the air. “I’ll ring you too, if I hear from him.” But she wouldn’t would she? She’d told him so equivocally it was over, he’d no doubt avoid contact at all costs.
Andie picked up her cup, and strode into the sitting room. She switched on the gas fire to banish the chill, missing the smell of wood smoke as the synthetic flames flickered. Tomorrow she’d open up the house, catch up on the post, and give the entire house a spring-clean. She turned the television on. Tonight, she’d allow herself a wallow in the past. If Ryan hadn’t posted any more bulletins, she would watch the reruns. If she wanted to cry, she didn’t have any reason not to.
The morning, miraculously, brought more clear skies and sunshine. Andie’d been out and stocked the kitchen with most of her favorite foods, adding a couple of tubs of Haagen-Dazs for emergencies, and a large coffee cake, ready for Suz’s visit.
The moment she woke, she called her friend, and had then rushed around giving the house a quick Hoover, throwing the windows wide to bring in the fresh summer air.
A glance at the kitchen clock. Half eleven. The doorbell rang.
“Hi, stranger!” Suz stood on the doorstep, clutching a bag that looked suspiciously like more carbs. She waved it in Andie’s face. “I brought Danish pastries.”
“I’ve got cake.” Andie hugged her friend close. “Gosh it’s good to see you.”
“Ditto.” Suz grinned. “It’s been boring around here without you.”
They walked into the kitchen. “Ooh! New picture?” Suz stilled in front of the canvas, lifted it, and had a good look. “I like it! Did you buy it while you were away?”
Pride swelled in Andie’s heart. “I painted it.”
Suz shot her a glance with eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”
“Yup.” Andie nodded. “All my own work.”
Suz examined the picture in greater detail. “Wow. Good for you.” She put the picture down. “So, he paints does he? Ryan?”
Andie pulled two cups from the cupboard and carried the jug from the coffee machine to the table. “No, his sister Brianne is the artist. We spent the weekend painting. Ryan’s gone back to Bekostan.”
“And that makes you feel…how?” Suz rubbed a hand over Andie’s back in a comforting gesture.
Emotions tumbled through Andie. It was all such a mess. The man she loved had gone, and she had no idea how she was going to get over it, get over him. “Pretty wretched, actually,” she tried for nonchalant, but missed it by a mile.
“Aw, honey.” Suz put the pastries down on the table. “I’m sorry.”
Gran had always advocated the stiff upper lip approach. Emily hadn’t been one for spilling out emotions either, at least not to Andie. The compassionate look in Suz’s eyes, combined with the well-spring of emotion bubbling under the surface, were Andie’s undoing. It felt good to have a friend. A good friend who wouldn’t judge, but would listen, and coo words of warm support in all the right places.
They’d always been that for each other. The details Andie knew of all Suz’s intimate relationships with the totally unsuitable men Suz had dated over the years would stun them to impotence if they only knew. She’d never tell, and Suz never would either. What’s said at the kitchen table, remains at the kitchen table, was their catch phrase. Putting it all out there was liberating. Although she kept back some of the more salacious details. Sharing their intimate moments would definitely be too much information.
By the time the coffee was drunk, and the pastries eaten, Andie felt totally washed out.
“So, what’s next?”
“I’m going to paint the sitting room. Add a bit of color,” Andie replied. “I thought I’d get paint charts this afternoon.”
“Good idea.” Suz pushed back her chair and stood. “How about we go for lunch on Wednesday?”
“Sounds good.” Andie accompanied Suz to the door, and watched her friend walk away into the sunshine.
The pile of post on the table caught her eye. An English stamp, with unfamiliar handwriting. She picked it up, and carried it into the kitchen. Slitting it open with a knife from the drawer, she pulled out a heavy card, embossed with the name of a London Hote
l. Hotel stationery. She flicked it over and read the signature, Laila.
Dear Andie,
I wanted to write before returning to Bekostan to tell you how happy I am to have made your acquaintance, and spend time with the daughter of my old friend. Should all go as planned, Bekostan will soon face a bright future, one that your mother played an important part in creating. We will honor her memory, and when the turmoil has passed, will hold that tribute ceremony, which I hope you will attend in her place. The postal service from Bekostan is erratic at best, so I shall send further details by email.
Best, Laila.
Andie plugged in her laptop and checked her email. As promised, she had mail. The ceremony was scheduled for the end of the week, and Laila had booked her into a hotel, and promised to send a car to the airport to collect her, should she decide to travel.
One last challenge. One she’d be proud to take in her mother’s memory.
Chapter Sixteen
With the decision made to change jobs, Ryan spent the morning briefing John on the coverage needed for the tribute. He made sure he was organized with a cameraman to record the events, and was well up on all the people he needed to interview.
Then he borrowed a car from the station, and drove to Sallud, a village nestling in the foothills of the mountains an hour from Rexa, famed for its jewelers. He’d strolled around the bazaar for hours, looking for the perfect gift for Andie. The more he’d looked, the more confused he got by all the options available. He’d imagined her throat covered in gold and precious gems, or maybe a bracelet to encircle her wrist. A particularly impressive pair of earrings had captured his interest for a while, long ruby drops glittering with golden accents.
Nothing was right. Nothing gave exactly the right message.
A trader swathed in dark robes, beckoned Ryan from the open front door of a darkened room. “Bekostani sapphire, top quality.”
Ryan walked in. His eyes adjusting to the gloom, as the trader gestured him closer.
“You are looking for something for a lady?”
Ryan nodded.
The trader pulled a wooden tray from behind the counter, laying it onto the glass countertop with exaggerated care.
A selection of rings lay nestled against blue velvet. Stunning in their simplicity and beautiful workmanship. “Did you make these?”
The trader shook his head. “These are the work of my father, a master jeweler.”
Ryan picked up one, staring into the simply faceted stone, with a starburst in its center. “What’s that inside?” He peered closer. “Those lines…”
“Star sapphire. The rarest of all natural sapphires.” The trader picked another ring from the tray. “Or this one, a perfect stone without a star.”
The simple band of white gold held a vibrant sapphire the color of Andie’s eyes at its center, surrounded by what looked like diamonds.
“The stones surrounding are white sapphires. Mined from Bekostan, like the center stone.”
If he asked, would she marry him?
There was a panicked shout from outside.
The trader gasped, shoved the tray back into the wooden cabinet. “Trouble,” he hissed, running to the shop’s entrance. “I must close.” He pushed at Ryan with gnarled fingers. “Out, out now.”
Ryan glanced around, trying to locate the source of the panic that had instantly transformed the peaceful bazaar. Women ran with children in their arms. Fear hung thickly in the air.
He reached inside his jacket pocket. A stranger ran past him, brushing Ryan’s cell phone from his hand. He bent, but the phone slipped through his fingertips, shattering on the hard ground. Bent over, he didn’t see the blast that streaked through the bazaar. The screams and acrid smell of smoke assailing his nostrils was enough.
He wasn’t injured, but the same couldn’t be said for the women and children lying in the destroyed stalls. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the bomb’s point of contact. The thought of documenting the horror filled Ryan with revulsion. He couldn’t look on, photograph the devastation and dispassionately report any longer, not while there was something he could do, aid he could give. He strapped his camera across his chest, and ran into the melee to help.
A man held his injured wife in his arms, tears running down his face as he called for aid. Ryan stripped off his jacket, ripped the sleeve off his shirt, and tied it in a tight tourniquet around her arm. She cried out.
The face of the man holding her contorted in agony.
“Help is coming.” Ryan gripped the man’s shoulder.
How would he feel if it were Andie lying in the dirt, with her blood soaking into the arid ground? The thought lanced pain through Ryan’s heart. He could tell himself he could keep from loving her, that somehow the pain of losing her could be avoided. The moment the bazaar dissolved into panic, the truth had stuck like a nail hammered into his heart.
He was in too deep. He loved her. Life was nothing without loving her.
“Over here!” Ryan waved at two men running with a makeshift stretcher, silently watching as the couple was whisked away.
An hour later, the injured had been tended to and removed to hospital. A group had claimed responsibility already—a hardline splinter group angered by Arnat’s more moderate approach. Bekostan’s troubles were far from over, but Ryan’s time there was.
The thought of trusting someone had always struck fear into Ryan’s heart. The thought filled him now with warmth. He would be weaving his future with Andie’s. The experience of being without her had been so tortuous he couldn’t bear to contemplate a solitary forever. She could say no. Could deny wanting him, but he’d seen the truth in her eyes, and there was no way he would walk away again, not without her by his side.
He turned back to the little shop. The dealer saw him coming, and pulled the door open.
Ryan stepped up to the counter. Pointed. “Show me that ring again.”
“I’ll do you a good price,” the dealer wheedled, not realizing that the sale was already made. “For American dollars, yes?”
Ryan reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket for his wallet. “Yes.”
With the ring nestled safely in his inside pocket beside his wallet, Ryan stepped out into the sunshine.
He glanced at his watch, and cursed aloud. The ceremony. Where had the hours gone? Instinctively, he reached for his cell phone, cursing at the memory of it smashing to pieces on the ground. The drive to Rexa would take at least an hour. He glanced down at his torn and bloodied clothing. He couldn’t go like this. He hurried to the car. A quick shower and a change of clothes, then he’d be ready to go.
Billowing ochre dust spun behind the car in a cloud as he raced down the track towards the strip of black that was the main road to Rexa. By the time he reached the hotel, the sky was darkening overhead as the evening crept in. He pushed the revolving glass door, intent on a quick change.
“Mr. Armstrong,” a voice called from the reception desk. “Mr. Armstrong.”
He turned.
“I have a message, an urgent message.” The young man behind the desk waved a piece of paper in the air.
With a muttered curse, Ryan strode across the white marble. “What is it?” He snatched the paper from the man’s hand. “I have to go out…”
The receptionist’s gaze scanned Ryan’s filthy clothes, the blood on his jacket. His face paled. “Are you all right, Sir? Do you need a doctor?”
Ryan brushed his concern with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine.” He opened the thin sheet of white paper.
“Miss Harte asked I give you this message the moment I saw you,” the youth said.
A cold knot of dread clenched in Ryan’s gut. “Miss Harte? She telephoned?”
A wide smile spread across the youth’s face. “No, Miss Harte checked in this afternoon. She wrote this note before leaving.”
Leaving? Ryan examined the neat handwriting. Ryan, I hoped to catch up with you when I arrived, but you were out. I’m going to the trib
ute, Laila’s sent a car. See you there?
“How long ago,” Ryan bit out through clenched teeth. “Come on, man, how long ago did she leave?”
“Half an hour ago?” The man looked at his watch. “Perhaps forty minutes?”
“Dammit.” Ryan crushed the note in his fist. The streets were calm now, but random flares of violence were still breaking out; more incidents might be planned. She could be in danger. His heart pounded. Especially at night. A woman travelling alone…
Panic flared to life as he turned on his heels and pushed out of the hotel again. How could she be here—alone and unprotected in this dangerous place?
His heart clenched as echoes of another woman, another day flooded him. He waved for a taxi. If anything had happened to Andie Harte…
*****
Andie stood at the side of the makeshift stage, breathing in the dust-laden air, as her mind replayed the events of the past couple of days. Luckily, she had a passport, taken out for the planned trip with Suz a couple of years earlier. There were no visas to get, just an air ticket.
Arriving at the airport had been a baptism of fire, but all opportunities to second guess her decision had been taken away by the urgency of the situation. Once she’d climbed aboard the large airplane, and taken her seat, it had been excitement bubbling within, rather than fear.
The moment she landed at Rexa airport, Andie realized what she’d been missing, in all the years she’d stayed at home with Gran. The large concourse swarmed with vibrant life. The buzz of conversation in a different tongue filled her ears.
Like a visitor on an alien planet, she looked around.
She breathed in air redolent with spices from the pastries on a little stall nearby. No cappuccinos and Danish here. Although the thick black liquid in small glass cups smelled like coffee.
Excitement flowed through her veins. She was really here. Really in the country that had claimed her mother’s heart. She was brave, could face anything. Anything but the possibility that Ryan wouldn’t want to try again.
“Can I have a taxi to the Rexa Grand?” she asked the man behind the desk.
Challenging Andie Page 15