by Penny Jordan
At the top of the stairs she called Sophie’s name again. Silence… Her ears stretched to catch the slightest sound registered a faint…what? Shivering faintly Chris hurried into her old room, stopping dead when she saw the small, huddled up figure on her old bed.
“Sophie…” Her relief turned to fear as she reached the bed and discovered how cold the little girl was, her eyes glazed and unseeing as they stared right past her. “Sophie, it’s me. Chris…” she said softly, fear touching ice fingers at her heart. What had happened to Sophie to cause this? “I’m going to take you home to Daddy,” she said quietly. “Come on now…” Sophie’s small body was rigid and tense, so much so that Chris feared to move her. Her eyes, normally alight with warmth were empty, vacant almost, and that more than anything frightened Chris. What should she do? She daredn’t risk moving Sophie by force in case her reactions drove her even further into her trauma, and yet she dreaded leaving her here alone…. If only the cottage had a ’phone… There was one at the bottom of the lane, and the lane led only to the cottage. It would take only minutes for her to get there…minutes in which Sophie would surely be safe? As these thoughts raced through her mind Chris tried to appear outwardly calm.
“We’ve been worried about you,” she told the little girl, hoping to see some glimmer of response in her empty eyes, praying that she could make Sophie respond to her; that she needn’t leave her here, but could take her with her back to Slater… If only she had told him her suspicions; if only she had not feared his rejection and mockery more than she had trusted her own instincts. It was useless to think of “if onlys” now she told herself. “Please look at me Sophie,” she begged. “Let me take you home to Daddy.”
“I don’t have a daddy…she told me I didn’t…” The sound of her hoarse, rusty little voice transfixed Chris almost more than the words she was uttering, and then it hit her, Sophie had actually spoken. “Sophie…Sophie darling…” She rushed over to the bed, hugging her, murmuring foolish words of praise, soaking her fair hair with her tears, but Sophie was completely unresponsive. So much so that her elation died. What on earth could Sophie mean? She didn’t have a daddy? Slater thought the world of her; he was so gentle and caring with her that often she found herself envying her. Just this evening studying her photograph there had been such pain in his eyes that Chris had ached to have the power to soothe it.
“Sophie, listen to me,” she exhorted softly. “You do have a daddy and Daddy loves you very much. I know he does…” There was absolutely no response. She had come out dressed in jeans and a thin tee-shirt and now Chris shivered. The cottage was both cold and damp, the musty scent pervading everywhere creeping into her lungs. What on earth ought she to do? Sophie’s almost trance-like state decided her. She daredn’t risk moving her forcibly; specially not in view of her extremely disturbed state; she would have to drive down to the end of the lane and ring Slater.
“Sophie, I’m going to go out now and telephone your daddy…” It seemed pointless talking to her, but she couldn’t simply leave without an explanation Chris thought numbly and who knew perhaps if she talked she might get some response. “I won’t be long,” she promised opening the bedroom door. “You wait here for me. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”
Her heart thumping painfully she hurried downstairs, in her haste and anxiety forgetting the rotten step. As her foot went down into nothing she cried out and pitched forward into endless darkness, pain exploding inside her skull.
Where on earth was she Chris wondered muzzily opening her eyes. For a second she thought she was still in the summerhouse…but no it was far too cold and there was no sunshine. Heat ran through her body as it remembered Slater’s lovemaking. She moved her head restlessly trying to escape the memories, crying out as pain lanced through her temple. She put her hand up to it instinctively, wincing as she felt the warm stickiness there. Now she remembered. She had missed her step and fallen down stairs in the cottage. Sophie… Fresh panic surged through her as she remembered the little girl… At least Sophie could not have left, she reflected glancing at the stairs; half of them had given way as she fell and there was now a gaping hole where the staircase had been. The downstairs lights were on; they might alert someone to their presence.
She must try to get to the ’phone. She tried to get up and bit back a fresh gasp of pain as her ankle buckled underneath her refusing to take her weight. Had she broken it? Chris wasn’t sure, but she did have to admit after two more attempts to stand on it that she wasn’t going to be able to get out to the car. That meant that she and Sophie were trapped here until someone found them. Thank goodness she had put the downstairs lights on. Someone might see them and be alerted to their plight. It was a faint hope she recognised. No one used the lane and there were no other houses nearby.
Would Slater eventually decide to come and investigate? Grim pictures of herself and Sophie starving to death flooded her mind, firmly rebutted by her common-sense. She was being ridiculous. The most they would have to wait was probably until tomorrow morning when surely one or other of the workmen would be along to survey the cottage. It was scarcely a comforting thought. The night stretched out ahead of them, long and very, very lonely. Sophie! Chris’s heart lurched in panic. “Sophie…” she called softly…“Sophie…it’s Chris. Can you hear me?” There was no response. She tried again several times, dragging her throbbing ankle behind her as she moved closer to the stairs.
The pain moving engendered made her head swim. She had barely eaten all day and now the traumas she had endured were beginning to take their toll. Her head throbbed muzzily, and the room went black whirling sickeningly round her. How many times in the hours that followed she slipped in and out of consciousness Chris did not know. She must be suffering from concussion she reflected at one point, trying to sort out her muddled thoughts; thoughts threaded through with tormenting images of Slater. It was just as well she thought unhappily at one point, that Sophie was unaware of their situation. At least the little girl was saved the terror that stalked her. How did she know what fears tormented Sophie’s young mind, she asked herself achingly. Why had Sophie made that comment about Slater? What was she doing at the cottage? Was it as Chris had once sensed, a place of a refuge for her? Her muddled thoughts ran into one another, pain making her long to give way to tears. Her body felt as though it had been beaten. Her back must have caught on one of the stairs as she fell, it ached so much.
“Sophie…” she called weakly, knowing there would be no response. “Sophie…”
She must have slept because the next thing she knew it was light. Her body ached all over and she was shivering. Exposure, she calculated, almost as though she were an onlooker on her own pain. She looked down at her ankle. It was very badly swollen and bruised black and blue. She couldn’t bear to move it. Her head throbbed and her eyes felt gritty.
“Sophie…” Her voice sounded thin and reedy, but her physical discomfort was forgotten as Sophie suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, looking untidy and grave. But this time there was recognition in her eyes—recognition and concern.
“It’s all right, Sophie…” she said weakly. “I fell down the stairs. Don’t come too near the edge, they’re very rotten. Have you been asleep?”
The fair head nodded. No sign of any attempt to speak Chris noticed… Did that mean that Sophie wasn’t aware of what had happened last night? It was so frustrating not being able to ask her.
“Did you come here to get another book?” she asked lightly, watching Sophie’s small face. For a moment it crumpled and looked puzzled and then Sophie nodded, running back to the bedroom and then reappearing with an old Enid Blyton book.
“Good girl. You sit there and read it,” Chris encouraged. “Some men will be here soon and they’ll take us home to…to your daddy.” Praying that what she was saying was true, Chris watched Sophie’s face closely, but her only response to her comment was a brief smile. She was exhibiting none of the emotion she had shown last night when
Chris mentioned Slater. She glanced at her watch. Seven… How much longer would they be trapped here? If the stairs hadn’t gone she could perhaps have sent Sophie off with a message, but then if they hadn’t gone she wouldn’t be lying here unable to move.
Time crawled by. Chris tried moving and groaned as pain shot through her body, willing it away as she saw Sophie’s worried expression. She must not frighten the little girl… “Throw me down a book Sophie and I’ll read to you,” she offered, letting out a painful breath as Sophie trotted off into the bedroom.
The book she dropped carefully within Chris’s reach was another Enid Blyton. Painfully turning the pages Chris started to read. At times the pain from her bruised body almost suspended her voice. She was shivering badly and her head ached, fine points of light dancing against her eyeballs making her long to close her eyes and give way to oblivion. When she eventually heard a car coming down the lane, she almost didn’t believe it…
“Sophie, run to the window and wave,” she commanded tensely… It was hardly likely that whoever it was wouldn’t stop. The lane led nowhere else, but she couldn’t relax until she heard slamming doors and male voices.
“Whose car is that outside?” she heard someone ask as the door was thrust open. Two stunned male faces looked down at her… Trying to smile Chris focused blindly on their faces, and said foolishly, “Thank goodness you’re here…”
“Get on the ’phone to Doc Stafford,” she heard the older man saying tersely. “We’d best not move her. Come a real cropper she has…”
“Please…” Chris fought encroaching unconsciousness to tug on the man’s sleeve. “Please…there’s Sophie…” she managed to whisper… “Upstairs…”
“Sophie? Isn’t that Slater James’s kid? The one that’s gone missing?” The sharp query was the last thing Chris heard properly as blackness washed down over her. Vaguely she was aware of comings and goings, of voices, Slater’s among them but when she tried to reach out to them she couldn’t speak. Someone was lifting her…
“Slater…” she tried to get her tongue round his name, but it felt numb and swollen.
“She’s okay, I’ve given her a pain-killing shot…”
“Okay?” Was that really Slater’s voice, sounding so rawly bitter. “Concussion…a swollen ankle…God knows how many bruises and contusions…exhaustion and exposure and you say she’s okay…”
She barely had time to absorb Slater’s concern before the other voice spoke again. “None of them things that won’t mend…and at least Sophie’s safe… Wonder what made her come down here… You’ll have to ask your friend when she’s recovered. Obviously she must have suspected…”
“Then why the hell didn’t she tell me instead of coming down here alone?”
The savagery in Slater’s voice pierced through her. No doubt he blamed her for the delay in finding Sophie. She started to cry slowly, consciousness receding.
“Chris…Chris…” She knew it was Slater calling to her but she couldn’t respond. She dared not for fear of what her response would reveal. It was easier by far to simply slide down into the welcoming blackness that reached out its arms to embrace her; arms far safer than Slater’s had ever been.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT was several days before her doctor pronounced Chris well enough to leave hospital. Although her actual physical injuries had been relatively slight he had been concerned that she might be suffering from concussion. To tell the truth Chris found the events of the evening of her accident very blurred and shadowy. All that she could remember properly was hearing Sophie speak; the little girl’s anguished words were carved into her heart, but she was reluctant to mention them to anyone. Although kind and concerned the hospital staff were so brisk that she feared they would believe she was imagining things and perhaps even keep her in hospital for further tests. She was far too thin Dr Stafford complained, and Chris was forced to admit that she had lost weight since coming to England.
Mrs Lancaster had been in to see her, and from her Chris had learned that Sophie had suffered nothing more than a cold after her ordeal. “You know what kids are,” she said cheerfully, “although we still haven’t been able to find out why she went there in the first place.”
Chris herself wasn’t sure, but she did know that something that had happened that afternoon had triggered off Sophie’s flight, and that something it seemed was somehow connected with John.
Slater came to pick her up. She had wanted to refuse to go with him, but could see no way of doing so without causing a scene. He walked into the ward, tall and virilely healthy-looking in jeans and a thin cotton shirt. Chris could feel her body pulsing in silent response to his presence, and she averted her head unable to bear the pain of looking at him without betraying how she felt.
“Chris…” He hadn’t been to see her during her stay in hospital, but then why should he? She meant nothing to him. She bit her lip remembering the heat of his body against hers in the summerhouse and amended her thoughts. He had wanted her physically, he had told her that much but there was no desire now in the golden eyes as they slowly searched her pale face. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine…” A cowardly impulse made her add huskily, “I really must think about leaving soon… Sarah was right, I don’t seem to be helping Sophie.”
She turned away from him not wanting him to see the defeat in her eyes. She had come to Little Martin so buoyed up with hopes and ideals, but now they were all gone. The indifference to Slater she had been so proud of had been nothing more than a mental sham erected by her mind to protect her vulnerable heart—now it had been destroyed. Far from helping Sophie, all she seemed to have done was to precipitate another trauma. Had she been pushing the little girl too hard, demanding too much of her? When Slater didn’t speak she continued slowly. “I feel responsible for her disappearance… It must have been because of something I said or did…”
“Not necessarily.” His cool denial made Chris turn her head and look up at him in surprise. Slater too had lost weight, she recognised numbly. His face was thinner, revealing hard bones, but then he must have endured agony wondering what had happened to Sophie.
“Why did you invite John Howard to the house?”
Chris closed her eyes on a wave of pain. They’d only been together for five minutes and already he was back to accusing her; condemning her. “Not because I wanted him to make love to me,” she assured him bitterly. “No matter what you might think of my morals or lack of them…” She broke off colouring hotly and shivering.
“That’s another subject we have to discuss,” Slater told her curtly. “I am aware that I seem to have been guilty of some error of judgment Chris, but now is neither the time nor the place.”
Of course it was only natural that he should be more concerned about Sophie than he was about misjudging her, Chris told herself firmly, and yet there was pain in acceptance of the knowledge and with it came the death of her faint, only just now admitted, hope that somehow the fact that she had had no lover but him would bring about a change of heart within him. What had she expected, she derided herself. A declaration of undying love?
“Well?” His curt tone reminded her that he was still waiting for an answer.
“If you really want to know why don’t you ask John himself,” she demanded childishly, “I’m sure you’d much rather believe him than me.”
“On this occasion I’m quite prepared to accept what you have to say.”
The faintly sardonic inflection to his voice made Chris look more closely at him, not sure if it was directed at her or at himself. The gold eyes were shuttered, unreadable, but there was tension in the way he held his body.
“It was because of Sophie,” Chris told him huskily. “We were exercising together…just a game really and then I heard her actually humming… I didn’t know what to do… I was frightened of provoking the wrong response from her…so I ’phoned John.”
“Humming?” The fierce glitter of hope burning his eyes to
deep topaz made Chris’s heart lurch in sympathy. Whatever else she could accuse Slater of, not loving his child was not among them. “John said it was probably an automatic reaction,” she explained shakily. “The tune was one that had been in the hit parade just before Natalie died. Sophie had probably heard it dozens of times,” she added, remembering her cousin’s predilection for popular music. Natalie had never been able to endure silence of her own company; always she must have noise, activity… Hers had in truth been a restless spirit.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” His fingers gripped her arm, darkly tanned against her paler skin. Chris flinched automatically instantly remembering the last occasion on which he had touched her, unaware of how huge her eyes looked in the hospital pallor of her face.
“It’s all right, Chris.” Slater’s voice was clipped and derisive as he removed his hand. “I’m not about to force myself on you…”
She flushed darkly, believing the comment to be a cruel taunt designed to remind her just how little force had been needed—none if she was honest, because she had wanted him with a need that probably over-rode his own. Her need, unlike his, had been fuelled by love.
“I wanted to tell you, but you were at work,” she reminded him, “and you said you weren’t coming back until late…” She frowned remembering his unexpected appearance. “Why did you tell me that, Slater?” she asked him bitterly. “Was it because you wanted to catch me out? To prove perhaps that I wasn’t a fit person to be involved with Sophie? I might have guessed that you’d find some subtle way of getting rid of me…that always was your style wasn’t it?”