Sian was in no hurry to reach the end of her journey. That might mean facing Cass. Worse, it might mean facing herself, and she was reluctant to do that, but at last she drove on, as the signpost directed, along the left-hand lane, narrow, deserted, the hawthorn hedges on each side, and below them ditches and wild flowers for which so far the bureaucrats had not given orders of extinction. No doubt weedkillers would spray them soon, but as yet they blew softly in the warm summer breeze— creamy white sprays of wild parsley, pink campion, scarlet poppy, spotted foxglove and tall yellow toadflax. Sian was delighted to see them, and kept looking aside at them, fascinated.
That was why she didn't see the other car come racing round the corner. One minute she was alone in the lane; the next a long, white sports car flashed past with a screech of tyres, shaving the side of her car so closely that, in panic, she wrenched the wheel and her car slewed sideways into the ditch.
As the car crashed down into the ditch there was a rending, splintering noise; she thought it sounded as if the end of the world had come. Her windscreen shattered. Glass sprayed everywhere; she instinctively covered her face with her arms, crouching down in the seat. Luckily, she had been wearing her seat-belt, or she might have gone head first through the windscreen and her face would have been cut to ribbons.
The car rocked wildly, and then settled into the long grass and weeds. Through her shaking fingers, Sian saw a splash of red and thought, poppies!— only to realise after a moment that it was blood on the steering wheel.
My blood! she thought with sick shock. Undoing her seat-belt, she scrambled out on to the road in case there had been a leakage of petrol and an explosion followed. There was no smell of petrol, but she was in a state of panic and wanted to get as far from the car as possible.
The other car hadn't stopped; either the driver hadn't seen her go into the ditch or simply hadn't cared. The lane was empty again; she couldn't hear a sound except the rustle of wild parsley and the melancholy call of birds.
Grabbing her handbag, she set off to walk in search of help. From the map Mrs Cassidy had sent her, the house couldn't be far, indeed, just five minutes away, she came to the high, black, ornately designed ironwork gates set between tall stone posts topped with carved stone gryphons, each bearing a shield.
Shield House. Sian made a face—a pun, she thought grimly, in no mood to be amused by such trifles. The gates stood wide, and at the far end of a meandering drive she saw the large, timbered house with its red-tiled roof. She still had quite a walk ahead of her and she was limping now. Blood was trickling wetly down her face from a cut on her forehead; from flying glass, no doubt. She hadn't bothered to do anything about it—she felt too sick and dizzy, but she set her teeth and doggedly walked on towards the house.
She was almost there when she saw the white sports car again, parked on the drive outside the house. It was empty, but Sian eyed it angrily, trying to hurry because she was afraid she was going to pass out any minute. Who had been driving it just now? It couldn't have been Cass—but it had to be either a member of the family or another guest. Sian had a few things to say to whoever it was, anyway!
A moment later, the front door opened and Cass walked out, tall and lean and casually dressed in an open-necked shirt and cream linen summer trousers. Sian stopped dead and felt odder than ever. He went over to the white sports car and opened the driver's door. It was his car! He must have been driving, after all! How could he drive like a lunatic, force her into a ditch and drive on without even looking back? She was incredulous and appalled; she would have taken bets that it Couldn't have been Cass. She had to be wrong about him. What had made her think she knew him well enough to predict how he would behave in any situation?
Serves you right for being so stupid, she told herself, taking another shaky step, and Cass suddenly caught sight of her in his driving-mirror. She saw the flash of those grey eyes in the glass. A second later he was out of the car and running towards her.
'Sian! Sian, my God, what's happened to you?'
He seemed genuinely surprised—she scowled, pushing him away as he tried to put his arms round her. 'You did, damn you!'
'I did?' His face looked almost as bloodless as hers felt. He was staring at her fixedly, and she gave him a defiant glare.
'Just keep your hands to yourself—and stop wavering about!'
'Wavering about? What do you mean?' He came back too quickly for her, and she shook her head, wincing at the way that hurt. 'There's blood all over your head,' Cass said in a strange, thick voice. 'You've had an accident!'
'Oh, you noticed at last,' she bitterly flung at him, narrowing her eyes as she tried to see him clearly. 'I can't take two of you. One of you was bad enough, but two is beyond a joke, especially when neither of you will stand still!'
'I'm standing still,' he said in that strange voice, his arm going round her waist, and this time she didn't push him away, because it was getting much harder for her to stay on her feet. Everything was going round and round as if she was in a washing-machine. No, she thought—a tumble-dryer, I'm in a tumble-dryer.
'What do you mean, a tumble-dryer?' Cass asked, guiding her towards the house. She hadn't realised she was thinking aloud, and giggled.
'I'm sick of you getting inside my head! Stop listening to me think!' She closed her eyes because she felt so sick and it was worse with her eyes open. 'How could you do it?' she asked as she suddenly found herself floating about, weightless.
'Do what?' he asked, oddly close to her, and she frowned.
'Are you inside my head? Is that how you know what I'm thinking?'
She felt his arms tighten, and then it dawned on her that he was carrying her and she had her head on his shoulder. That was why he sounded so close.
'Stop talking and lie still,' he said huskily. 'I'm not inside your head.'
'Why should I believe you?' Her voice was scornful. 'Hit-and-run driver!'
'Hit-and-run driver?'
She laughed, wincing again. 'Don't bother to sound so bewildered! I saw the car, even if I didn't see your face. You can't get out of it this time. I'll make sure you pay my garage bill; this isn't going on my insurance, it's going on yours.' Talking so much was exhausting, and she stopped. She felt so strange. So weak and…
The next thing she knew was that she was lying on a bed and a strange man was bending over her. He made soothing noises when she tried to get up, push him away.
'I'm a doctor, just lie still. Everything's OK.'
Sian believed his eyes rather than his voice; she lay still and he lifted her lids and shone lights into her eyes, watching her wince, then he asked questions, and while she answered her eyes roved round the room until they found a familiar object. It turned out to be Cass.
She frowned, looking away. 'I'm fine now, thanks,' she told the doctor, but he smiled politely and shook his head.
'Well, I think we'll have you in hospital tonight for a few tests—you may have concussion. You were only unconscious for a moment, but with head injuries that might not mean much. An X-ray is essential, and some hourly observation. It's lucky I was here.' He straightened and smiled at Cass. 'Even if I am supposed to be off duty!'
'Sorry to find you some work for your spare time!' Cass said lightly, but his eyes were not amused; they were grave. 'I'll drive her to hospital if you'll ring and let them know we're coming. No need for you to come with us, Piers.'
'Well, I'm not a head man or any sort of specialist—but that's a superficial cut on her head; flying glass, I found some in the blood. She probably fainted from shock. I'd be happy to drive her in, though, Cass, just in case I'm wrong and it's more serious than I diagnose.'
'Well, that's up to you,' said Cass.
Sian grimaced from one to the other. 'While you're arguing over who's taking me to hospital, I could be dying from loss of blood.'
'Oh, the cut isn't serious. It just bled a lot.' The doctor was smiling, though.
'Oh, well, what's a few pints of blood?' Sian said
drily and both men laughed.
'Nowhere near that much,' said the doctor. 'Blood always looks much worse than it really is. One glass of water and you'll make up for what you lost, and I've stopped the bleeding. There's a bandage on your head.'
'You look very interesting with it,' assured Cass.
'What a comfort!' Sian said, her glance at him hostile. 'While I'm in hospital, perhaps you'll see that my car is pulled out of that ditch and taken to a good garage for repairs.'
He frowned. 'Don't worry about your car.'
'I do worry about it. You may be able to afford to run any number of cars, but I just have one and it costs me the earth just to keep it full of petrol and have it serviced regularly. Repair bills could cripple me, but I meant what I said! You're paying, and you'd better report the accident to the police, too.'
His face was sombre. 'There's no need to involve them. I'll pay all the bills.'
Sian gave him a contemptuous smile, her green eyes icy. 'I had a suspicion you wouldn't want the police informed. Very well. Keep them out of it, but you'd better see to it that I get back my car in tip-top condition.' She sat up gingerly and Cass moved to help. She pushed him away. 'I can manage!'
'I'll carry you!'
'You won't. I can walk.' She put her feet down on the floor and stood up. She still felt a little shaky, but the room wasn't going round and round. Cass hovered, much too close, and she eyed him sideways. 'I'm fine now.'
The doctor stepped nearer and offered his arm. 'Then we'll go down to my car, shall we?'
Cass followed and over her shoulder as they negotiated the stairs Sian said remotely, 'There's no need for you to come to the hospital.'
They moved slowly through a high-vaulted hallway: oak-panelled and fragrant with lavender furniture-polish and summer flowers in great earthenware bowls. Sian was concentrating on walking without that betraying little tremble, but she noted Mrs Cassidy in the background, looking pale and worried. Somewhere there was someone crying; Sian heard that too, although she wondered if she was imagining it. Cass went to speak to his aunt while the doctor helped Sian down the stone steps from the front door. He put her into a comfortable red estate car and she leaned back, closing her eyes briefly, because her head hurt and she still felt weak. The doctor paused before getting behind the wheel; she heard him talking to Cass and felt Cass watching her, but didn't look that way.
Sitting up, she stared ahead of her while the doctor came round the back of the car and got into the seat next to her. The engine came to life and the car drove off with a grate of tyres on gravel. Cass was standing outside the house on the steps, staring after them. She saw him in the wing mirror; his blue striped shirt emphasizing the pallor of his skin and his dark hair blowing around in the wind until he raked it down with one hand in an impatient gesture.
Sian looked away, dry-mouthed and miserable. He wasn't the man she had thought he was. Disillusionment ached inside her as the doctor headed for the black ironwork gates.
'You're a reporter, I gather,' he said, and she started, looking round at him.
'Yes.'
He gave her a brief, wry smile. 'And Magda tells me you're the one who first broke the story about Cass being left at the altar?'
'That's right.' Her voice was defiant; she wasn't apologising for that. She would never feel guilty about Cass again; he had deserved everything that happened to him.
The doctor fell silent, and after a few moments it was Sian who re-started the conversation.
'You're a family friend, not their doctor?'
'I'm both, I hope.' He smiled again, with more warmth.
'I suppose you're Mrs Cassidy's doctor, then?'
He nodded. 'I'm one of the local GPs—we have four at the health care centre a couple of miles away. I'm Piers Brand, by the way—please call me Piers.'
'I'm Sian,' she said, and he smiled.
'I know.'
'How far is it to the hospital?' she asked, and he soothingly told her it was just another five minutes' drive. Sian fell silent and neither spoke until he was pulling in to the casualty department parking bay, when he asked if she felt up to walking into the hospital or should he get a porter with a wheelchair. Sian said she was quite capable of walking, and he smiled that wry little smile again.
'There's no need to feel you're being asked to prove anything! Nobody will think the less of you if you feel too shaky to walk.'
'But I don't,' she said, and got out of the car without his help, made it into the casualty waiting-room unaided, where she sat while he went off to talk to the nurse on duty at the desk.
Sian was taken off to X-ray, and then saw another doctor who questioned her along much the same lines as the other had; she had lights shone in her eyes, was tested for some fifteen minutes, and then she was told she needn't stay overnight. There seemed to be nothing wrong apart from superficial cuts and bruises; the X-ray had shown no trace of damage.
She wasn't sure if Dr Brand had gone or whether he was waiting for her, but if he wasn't she could always get a taxi. Where to, though? Should she go back to Mrs Cassidy's house? She was reluctant to see Cass again; she was still too angry and shocked by his hit-and-run driving. Yet if she didn't go back there it might cause just as much trouble, because undoubtedly they would come looking for her if she left the hospital and went back to London.
She walked into the casualty waiting-room, but Dr Brand wasn't there. Sian's heart constricted, seeing Cass get to his feet, a newspaper clenched in one hand.
'They let you go?'
'Were you hoping they'd lock me up for days and give you a chance to get your clever London lawyers on the case?' The biting tone of her voice made him frown.
'Piers has gone. I'll drive you back,' was all he said, and that made her angrier.
'I suppose you think that if you get me alone you can talk me into withdrawing the allegation!' she threw at him, and he took hold of her arm and hustled her towards the main door of the hospital so fast that she almost skidded on the highly polished floor. 'Are you trying to kill me?' she muttered, and some nurses going off to supper turned to stare at them.
Red-faced, Cass snarled, 'Just shut up until we're in the car!'
'Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?' she seethed, trying to wrench her arm free. 'What do you mean, anyway? Telling me to shut up! I won't. I'll shout the truth from the roof if you keep bullying me like this.'
He dragged her over to where his car was parked. 'Bullying you? Who's bullying you? I just don't want to have this discussion in front of a horde of strangers!'
'Witnesses, you mean!' Sian sneered. He yanked the car door open and pushed her into the front passenger seat as if she were a rag doll. As she sprawled there, limp and shaking with rage, he slammed the door and strode round to get in beside her. 'You don't want witnesses, do you?' she accused, and he stared fixedly at her. 'Just as there were no witnesses when you forced my car off the road,' Sian burst out, alarmed by his expression. Those bright, furious eyes were full of threat, but he started the engine and drove off without trying to answer her. She should, perhaps, have held her tongue then. It might have been wiser, not to say safer, but she was in a reckless mood and full of hurt resentment.
'Why did you do it? I thought it was just bad driving at first; you didn't care if I skidded off the road or not! But it was more than that, I think, wasn't it? Otherwise you'd have stopped to make sure I wasn't badly hurt, but you put your foot down and shot away before anyone could get your number. You meant to force me off the road.' She was thinking aloud, rather than actually accusing him. The idea had only just occurred to her, and one part of her mind still didn't believe it. Cass wasn't the murderous type. Or was he?
'You were trying to hurt me,' she said slowly, going white. 'My God, you were trying to kill me!'
CHAPTER EIGHT
'You're hysterical!' said Cass curtly, his foot down on the accelerator and the car hurtling along at around eighty miles an hour now that they were outside the built-up area s
urrounding the hospital.
'I'm nothing of the kind! I'm just furious!' snapped Sian, a nervous eye on the speedometer. 'And stop driving so damn fast!'
Hedges flashed by, green meadows were a blur of colour, she saw other drivers staring open-mouthed as they passed them, but Cass didn't slow down for quite a few moments.
'You can't believe anyone tried to kill you! Why should they?' he muttered, and there was something odd in his voice; his face was drawn and frowning. Sian hadn't been talking rationally, she had been using her instincts, and she used them now, watching him and still incredulous over the idea that Cass might have been the driver who forced her off the road and then drove away without stopping.
'Was it you?' she asked huskily, wanting him to deny it, eager to believe him if he said it wasn't true.
He didn't answer, though. He shot her a look and then stared back at the road, brows knit.
Her stomach sank and she felt her eyes burning, as if she was about to cry, but she wouldn't cry over him. She clenched her teeth and fixedly regarded the landscape through which they were driving. It was so calm and tranquil; Sian wished she felt like that, but her mood was stormy and she contrarily wished the weather matched it.
Cass suddenly turned off the road and parked in a leafy lay-by behind which ran a little wood of oak and beech and hazel trees.
Sian shrank back against the seat as he turned to face her. 'Why have you stopped? Start the car. I want to get back.'
'Not until we've talked this out!'
'What is there to talk about? The only talking I should do is to the police!' She gave him an angry smile. 'Don't look so worried—I'm not going to tell them, but I've a damn good mind to put the whole story in the paper!'
No More Lonely Nights Page 11