by Liz Fielding
She felt for a handhold and found a likely lump of rock. It held firm and she pulled herself up, and showed Tom where to put his hands. It worked, and, confidence restored a little, he allowed her to help him until he was perched on the ledge and he, at least, was safe.
For a moment she remained where she was, aching, sore and deeply frightened, but she knew she would have to make the effort to join the boy on the ledge before her own strength gave out. She reached for a rocky protrusion, an ideal handhold from which to pull herself up, but as she shifted her weight it gave way. Clawing momentarily at space, her heartbeat rattling in panic, sweat standing out in beads on her forehead and upper lip, she knew she was going to die.
Then her clutching fingers found something solid and stuck fast. Tom lunged to help her. ‘Get back,’ she yelled sharply. As she saw the pinched white face leaning above her, she swallowed and tried to smile. ‘Sorry, Tom. I’ll be fine. Just sit right back, away from the ledge. I’ll just have a little rest.’ She tried to ignore the sweat gathering under her fingers and the pain in her chest. The sense of déjà vu was almost overhwelming. ‘Chay,’ she whispered fervently, but this time Chay wasn’t there to rescue her.
‘Can I offer you a hand, Sophie Nash?’ She jerked out of a half-faint. She was beginning to imagine things as her need for him conjured the words from her brain. Yet the gentle voice had sounded so real that she was unable to stop herself glancing up to the cliff-top, but there was no one there. She glanced at Tom, cowering back on the ledge. At least he was safe, she thought. She had done that for Chay. That was all that mattered, and she laid her forehead against the rock.
Then Chay was there beside her, his arm was around her, and she was being propelled upwards on to the ledge beside the boy.
‘Chay?’ She stared into the grim white mask of his face. ‘Where did you come from? Theresa said—’
He indicated the top of the cliff a few yards above them. ‘Shall we adjourn the inquest until you’re both safe?’ he interrupted abruptly. ‘Sit there and don’t move. I’ll come back for you.’
Then he made Tom stand and slowly, carefully, coaxed him to climb the rest of the way. To Sophie it was agony, watching as the two of them covered the distance, Chay’s calm voice indicating the best route and Tom, confidence recovering fast, putting his hands and feet where he was told, unaware of the hand at his back ready to grasp him. Why on earth didn’t he just carry him up? Dump him over the edge and make sure he was safe?
Finally it was done, and she let out a long, slow shuddering breath and felt all the tension slide out of her body.
‘Now it’s your turn, Sophie Nash.’ And there was no doubt from his expression that it had been a mistake to return. He was still angry with her. Very angry.
‘I can manage,’ she said stubbornly, as he ordered her to put her arms about his neck.
‘Can you?’ he said sharply. ‘I don’t think so.’ Then, his voice a little gentler, ‘Perhaps you should let me help.’ And her heart began to beat a little faster.
‘Despite the undoubted provocation?’
‘Despite everything. Come on, Sophie, let’s go home.’ And together they climbed to the top. He made no effort to disguise his help. Her ego was long beyond the need of such protection. His hand was there behind her all the way. Steadying, comforting, reassuring. Then he was hauling her over the ledge.
Tom was waiting. Theresa too, crouched over the boy, crying, wiping her eyes with her apron, her arms cradling him, rocking him. But when Tom saw Sophie he broke away.
‘You’ve come back, Sophie,’ he said, flinging himself at her, all terror apparently forgotten. ‘Will you stay now? You won’t go away again?’
‘Tom!’ Chay’s voice was sharp. ‘Haven’t you got something to say to Sophie?’
Tom’s face fell. ‘I… I’m sorry, Sophie.’
‘Are you?’ She gathered him in and hugged him. ‘I do understand,’ she whispered. ‘It was a challenge. Something you had to do.’ His dark eyes looked at her uncertainly, and then she knew why Chay had made the boy climb the last few yards himself. ‘But now it’s done,’ she said. ‘You’ve climbed the cliff like Uncle Matt and Papa and you’ll never have to do it again.’ She saw the flicker of relief touch the child’s eyes before he threw his arms about her neck, and she felt the little body tremble against her.
Then Chay picked him up and held him close for a moment, before handing him over to Theresa. ‘Take him back to the cottage, Theresa, and stick him in the bath,’ he recommended. ‘Then give him something to eat. He must be hungry.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Go on, Tom. We’ll come down and see you later.’
‘Why is he going to the cottage?’
‘All his things are there. I arranged for him to stay down with Theresa and Twany while I was in London.’
She stared at him. ‘But you’re not in London.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not.’
‘Chay—’ she began. ‘I know you’re still angry —’
‘Angry? Of course I’m angry.’ She stepped back as if slapped, and he swore. ‘Oh, Sophie,’ he said fiercely, catching her and pulling her close against his chest to bury his face in her hair. ‘I’m not angry with you. You risked your life to save Tom. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know…’ He gave a long, painful shudder. ‘I’m angry with myself for not realising how serious he was. You did warn me.’ He straightened, held her at arm’s length and finally managed a lop-sided smile. ‘We really must stop meeting like this.’
‘Twice is more than enough,’ she agreed, her heartrate racketing dangerously out of control.
‘At least I don’t have to carry you this time.’ He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Or do I?’ He frowned. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I’m s-s-sorry.’ And then her teeth were rattling and she was shivering and her legs were like rubber. He swore and swung her up into his arms. ‘Come on. I think we could both do with a large brandy.’
She peeped up at him from under a curtain of long thick lashes and took the biggest risk of her life. Far worse than climbing the cliff, the consequences of misjudgement just as final. ‘You promised me champagne… once.’
He stood her, very carefully, on the living-room floor, and turned her into his arms. ‘So I did. You shall have bottles of the stuff. You can bath in it if you want to, but not right now. Right now there’s someone you have to meet.’
He turned her round, and for a moment she didn’t understand. A young fair-haired woman stepped towards her, oddly familiar and yet… ‘Hello, Sophie.’
‘Jennie?’ Sophie took an uncertain step forward. Then she flew to her, hugging her, crying and laughing all at once. ‘Oh, Jennie.’ Then she saw the smaller, younger Jennie, hiding shyly behind her mother.
‘This is Kate.’
Sophie bent down. ‘Hello, Kate. I’m your Aunt Sophie.’
The child touched her face. ‘You’re just like my mummy.’
‘Yes, darling. Exactly like.’
‘Come on, Kate. Mummy and Sophie have a lot to talk about.’ Chay took the child’s hand. ‘We’ll go and find Tom and he can show you his pony. He might even let you sit on her.’
It was a long time later, hours in reality, years in words, before they finally stopped talking and went to look for Chay and Kate and Tom. The three of them were in the cottage having supper, and Theresa waved them into seats and produced two more plates.
‘Chay…’
‘Later, Sophie. We’ll talk later.’ When we’re on our own, his eyes promised, and her face grew warm.
‘But I don’t understand. Why did you bring Jennie here?’
‘Because when I took her to your flat, your nextdoor neighbour told me you had rushed off to Malta on some emergency. This was the contact address she had. So we followed you.’ He frowned. ‘Why…?’
But Sophie had already leapt to her feet. ‘Oh, lord, I forgot…in all the excitement. Nigel stole a photograph of you and Tom from my flat…’
/> ‘When?’
‘This morning…’
He didn’t waste time asking what photograph or when she had taken it. ‘Excuse us, Jennie.’ He rose and took her arm. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded as he strode with her back up to the tower, and a little breathlessly she explained what had happened.
There was a newly installed telephone on the desk in his study and he punched in a number.
‘Poppy? Chay Buchanan. Don’t talk, just listen. I want you to call the editor of Celebrity. He’s going to be offered a photograph of me with Tom by someone called Nigel Phillips. It’s stolen. Tell him if they use it he’ll be charged as an accessory.’ He listened for a moment. ‘Well, just in case he’s prepared to take the risk, you’d better issue a press release. You can announce a new Chay Buchanan novel for the autumn list. The first part of a trilogy—’ He broke off as there was a burst of excitement from the receiver. ‘Yes, yes. You’ll have the manuscript by courier. And you can also mention that I’m getting married.’ He glanced at Sophie as she made a choked sound. ‘You’ve met the bride.’ He grinned at her. ‘Yes, it’s Mary Poppins. When? Well, I’ve got the licence in my pocket, so don’t bother to ring back, because we’ll be on our honeymoon.’ He took Sophie’s hand and pulled her closer. ‘Where?’ He laughed softly. ‘My dear Poppy, that information is classified.’ He pressed the cut-off button and put the receiver on his desk.
‘Chay…’ Sophie protested, a little breathlessly. ‘You can’t… You mustn’t. All that publicity… It’ll destroy everything you’ve worked for…’
‘No, my love. Did you doubt for a moment that once his grandfather had met Tom he could fail to love him?’
‘It went well?’
‘The first few minutes were a bit sticky. Then… Well, you know Tom.’ He captured her chin and tilted it until she was completely at his mercy. ‘And you know me. I warned you once that I was prepared to keep you here for as long as I had to.’
‘Imprisoned at the top of your tower?’ she asked, a little shakily.
‘If necessary. I’m going to ask you a question. I’d like the answer to be yes.’
‘But I have to explain.’
‘No, you don’t. You said that you would never do anything to hurt Tom or me. “Believe me,” you said. I should never have doubted you. Can you forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to—’
‘I want to hear you say yes. Can you forgive me?’
‘Yes, Chay,’ she said.
‘Convince me,’ he insisted, pulling her into his arms. Slowly, a little shyly, she raised her hands to cradle his face and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. It was so .sweet, so wonderful, like rain after a drought. ‘Is that convincing enough?’ she asked at last, a little breathlessly.
‘We’ll come back to that one.’ He took her hands. ‘I’ll tell you at length, when I’ve less important things on my mind, just how I found Jennie. But with friends who have access to the right computers—’
‘How on earth did you know that was what it was all about?’
‘Something he said. Remember Jennie. I checked up on Phillips. He’s done this sort of thing before. A very nasty piece of work.’
‘He said he had found her in one of those awful bed and breakfast places…’
‘He lied.’
‘Yes. I was very stupid to have ever believed him.’
‘No, darling. You were vulnerable. People who care are always at the mercy of the unscrupulous. But we shouldn’t be too hard on him.’
‘Why not?’ she demanded indignantly.
‘Because without him we would have never met. And I would never have been able to ask you to marry me. Will you marry me?’
‘This is where you want me to say yes?’ she asked, her voice breaking a little.
‘You’re catching on, my darling.’
‘Am I?’ She slid her arms around. his neck and a little smile played about her mouth. ‘Convince me, Chay.’
And it was some time later before she was able to gaze up into that fierce, proud, wonderful face. For a moment the whole world held its breath and waited. ‘Yes, Chay,’ she said. ‘Yes, please.’
ISBN : 978-1-4592-7714-4
PRISONER OF THE HEART
First North American Publication 1996.
Copyright © 1995 by Liz Fielding.
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