by Evie Hunter
Decision made, Abbie quickened her pace to catch up with Martin and the dogs. It was Christmas day. The season of goodwill to all men, including Hollywood superstars. She could do this. She’d call Kit and then Jack.
Christmas lunch was much like Thanksgiving at home. The same gigantic turkey and a big crowd around the table with lots of teasing and toasting. Suddenly Abbie missed her family. She glanced at her watch. It was noon in New York. A decent time to call Miffy and her dad. Her cell didn’t work in Ireland but Barbara said she could use the phone in the study.
Abbie punched in the number and listened to the phone buzzing at the other end of the line. Miffy answered. ‘Abbie Marshall, why on earth has it taken you two weeks to call?’
Abbie held the phone away from her ear as her sister ranted without pausing for breath. How worried they were. How haggard their dad looked. How the girls wondered why their Auntie Abbie wasn’t around to take them ice-skating. How she missed their annual outing to Bergdorfs. That was one thing I didn’t miss, Abbie thought as Miffy went on and on.
She had asked Barbara and Martin not to say that she was staying with them, but she hadn’t known that they would take her so literally and tell Miffy they didn’t know where she was in Ireland. ‘It’s OK, Sis. I’m with Barbara and Martin.’
‘She’s with Barbara and Martin.’ She could hear Miffy repeating the news to whoever had come into the room. For crying out loud, this was supposed to be a casual ‘happy Christmas’ phone call, not the Spanish Inquisition.
‘Sis, I’m OK.’
‘OK?’ Miffy’s voice got louder. ‘It’s not OK to disappear like that. We were worried. It was embarrassing having the police inform us that you had flown to Ireland and there was nothing more they could do.’
Abbie sucked in a breath. She couldn’t believe that they had involved the police. All she had intended to do was lie low for a while.
Miffy was still talking: ‘… And I invited William for Christmas dinner just so you could make up with him, and you don’t bother showing up, leaving the poor man without a partner. Really, Abbie, what sort of manners do you have?’
Ah, this was familiar territory. When Miffy moved on to manners Abbie knew her sister was winding up her statement against the accused. Defending her so-called bad manners she could deal with.
‘Hold on.’ Abbie finally managed to break into Miffy’s rant. ‘I never said I was coming for Christmas. If you invited William, that was your doing, not mine.’ It felt good to stand up for herself.
Miffy continued. ‘You do realize that everyone’s been calling here looking for you? That friend of yours with the strange hair has been very annoying. Josh Martin from the newspaper called asking where to send your cheque. And that dreadful Jack Winter was horribly rude yesterday –’
‘Jack called?’
Abbie wanted to dance around the study. Jack had called. He missed her. He wanted to see her. Her euphoria quickly turned to bitterness. Yes, he called two weeks after he dumped her.
Miffy sniffed. ‘Really, Abbie, whatever is going on with him, you have to stop it. He’s in the middle of the most hideous scandal.’
She tried to sound casual. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘He said he had your phone and wanted to know where you were. He was extremely rude.’
With a sinking heart, Abbie realized where she had lost her work phone. It was in Jack’s place. He was probably trying to return it to her, nothing more than that. ‘Thanks, Miffy, put Dad on.’
Abbie listened as the girls squabbled over the phone to tell her about this year’s Christmas extravaganza. Miffy tackled Christmas like a military campaign. She had a ‘list’ at several stores so that there could be no Christmas faux pas. The holiday season would proceed in an orderly fashion in the Marshall-Baker household. Abbie was glad to have missed it.
Eventually, her father came on the line. ‘Hi, Abbie, how is Ireland?’
‘Snowy, would you believe? They have a white Christmas here for the first time in twenty years. I’m fine, Dad, just fine. I’m following a story. Well, I will be when Christmas is over. I’ll be in touch soon.’
There was no more mention of Jack.
32
Abbie replaced the receiver in the cradle and slumped into the battered leather chair. Doheny – or was it Nesbitt? – pushed into the room. His nails clicked loudly on the wooden floor. He cocked his head to one side and stared at her.
‘Another walk, huh?’
He wagged his tail in response.
At the back of the house, she could hear the sound of music starting up. Martin had promised dancing but she couldn’t face it. Maybe she could slip out while they were busy. She grabbed a coat and scarf from under the stairs and pulled on one of Barbara’s hats. The second dog appeared when she reached the front door. ‘OK, guys, let’s go.’
Abbie followed the barking dogs across the paddock. The sky was clear and filled with stars. In New York she rarely got to see the night sky because of the light pollution but here it was a wonder and she stared until the stars began to blur. What was Jack doing tonight? Was he partying with some starlet who had eyelashes longer than her skirt? Maybe he was at an exclusive A-list party.
The thought of him being with someone else made her heart ache. She blinked at the stars. ‘OK, Abbie, it’s time to stop crying about Jack Winter. It’s over.’
There, she had said it. She was over Jack Winter. Well, maybe not over, but moving on. She would go back to the house and call Kit, and in the New Year she would resume work on the Breslin story. Abbie whistled for the dogs. ‘Come on, guys, we’re going home.’
Back in the house, the dancing was in full swing and had moved from the kitchen to the hallway. A few more cars had arrived since her departure. Barbara and Martin’s place was obviously party central on Christmas night.
In the time it took her to get to the study, Abbie had fended off two invitations to dance and an offer of a glass of whiskey. The Irish were a friendly lot who didn’t take no for an answer. Despite herself, she laughed and promised to come back after she had called Kit.
The phone rang steadily but no one picked up. Maybe Kit was out. Abbie was just about to hang up when she heard her voice. ‘This better be good.’
‘Kit, it’s –’
‘Oh my god, Abbie. Is that you? Where the hell are you?’
Abbie could hear a male voice in the background and Kit telling him to be quiet. ‘I’m in Ireland.’
‘Ireland? What are you doing there? I’ve been worried sick about you. Why didn’t you call me?’
Abbie twisted the cable on the phone. She had meant to call Kit dozens of times, but she couldn’t face talking about Jack. ‘Sorry, my cell phone doesn’t work here and, well, I guess I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone.’
‘How are you feeling now?’ Kit lowered her voice. ‘You know that he’s been looking for you?’
Abbie sighed. ‘I heard. Miffy told me.’
‘Are you going to call him?’
There was no going back to him. Jack didn’t trust her. After the initial flood of joy at hearing that Jack had been looking for her, she realized nothing had changed. He didn’t trust anyone. He had set the rules of their relationship from the beginning, and expected her to blindly follow them. It wasn’t enough for her any longer.
‘No, I’m not going to call him. It’s over.’
‘I see.’ Kit was using her therapist’s voice.
Abbie wasn’t in the mood for being the client. ‘So, any news? How is New York? Did Santa Claus bring you anything nice?’
She heard Kit laugh. ‘Nice distraction, but I will get the full story from you. As a matter of fact, Santa did bring me something nice. A cute Irish guy with a diamond ring.’
Abbie almost fell off her chair. Kit and Kevin. Engaged. ‘You’re getting married?’
‘No, I happened to admire the ring and the idiot bought it for me. How can I possibly marry a man I’ve known for less than two mo
nths?’
Abbie giggled. If anyone was going to marry a man she had known less than two months, it would be Kit. ‘So, you’re not going to accept him?’
‘I didn’t say that either. I’m considering my options.’
Abbie could hear the sound of kissing and then Kit’s low laugh. Kevin was there with her and they sounded happy. ‘I’ll leave you to your options, then. Call you soon. Night, Kit. Happy Christmas.’
Barbara tapped on the door and appeared carrying two glasses of champagne. ‘If you won’t come to the party, the party will have to come to you.’
She took one gratefully and took a sip. ‘Sorry, Barbara, I was just calling home.’
‘That’s OK, but you’ve spent far too much time on your own these past two weeks. Besides, I’ve a nice man that I want you to meet.’
Abbie pulled a face. ‘I’m not in the market for a man. They’re too much trouble.’
‘This one won’t be, I promise. He’s talking to Martin about horses. You probably know him already. It’s Chris Warrington.’
Abbie’s head shot up. ‘American ambassador, Chris Warrington?’
‘The very one.’ Barbara left the room with a smug smile on her face.
Abbie raced upstairs and riffled through her wardrobe. Lots of jeans and business skirts, but at the back was the dress she had worn to the theatre with Jack. She ran her hands over the silky fabric. It held painful memories, but it was the only dress she had with her.
Abbie put on some make-up and hurried downstairs. If she wanted to find an American citizen who had recently moved to Ireland, Chris Warrington was the man who could open the way for her.
She was aware of a few admiring glances from some of the partygoers. It was amazing what a flirty dress and a pair of heels could do. Abbie made a beeline for Martin and the ambassador.
‘Chris, I’d like you to meet my niece, Abbie. Abbie, this is Chris Warrington.’
‘Ambassador.’ Abbie smiled and offered her hand.
A pair of blue eyes twinkled at her from beneath a shock of white hair. Chris Warrington was on his second posting to Ireland and had a reputation as an astute politician and a decent man. ‘It’s first names only while I’m here. Martin and I go way back.’
‘Aye, I sold him a nice little filly about eight years ago.’
‘And made a nice profit too.’ Both men laughed.
Abbie decided to strike while the iron was hot. ‘I was wondering if you might be able to help me. I’m doing a follow-up on a story about Honduras, but the official in the State Department who was helping me has just been transferred here. I was in a plane crash and lost a lot of my notes.’
‘I heard about that.’ He suddenly sounded interested. ‘Weren’t you with that actor, what’s his name, Winter?’
Beside her, Abbie watched as Martin stopped pouring a glass of whiskey. OK, you can do this, Marshall. It’s not going to be the only time that someone mentions his name. She put on her brightest smile. ‘That’s right. Jack Winter.’
The ambassador winked at her. ‘That’s the one. My teenage daughter is crazy about him. Any chance you could get me an autograph?’
Abbie’s smile froze. She would rather chew her own toenails than ask Jack for anything. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Now, who was the man you wanted to contact?’
‘His name is Breslin. Tom Breslin,’ she offered.
‘Ah, Tom. Good guy, he’s only been with us for a couple of weeks. Big into the horses too, I understand.’
Martin rubbed his hands together. ‘Bring him along to the hunt ball, then. I could do with another bit of business.’
‘Only if we split the commission.’ The ambassador laughed. ‘Do you want me to give Tom a message?’
And warn him in advance? Not a chance. The ball would be a perfect opportunity to find out just what Breslin’s involvement in Honduras was.
‘No, let it be a surprise.’
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned. It was Barbara. ‘There’s a phone call for you in the study. It’s from America.’
Abbie left the party behind and hurried to the study. It had to be Miffy or Kit. Maybe the girls had opened their gifts and wanted to say thanks. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Abbie.’
She closed her eyes. Jack. Almost a full minute of silence passed while she tried to stop the words from spewing from her mouth. How hurt she was that he had believed she had betrayed her. How angry she was that he had tracked her down. How much she had missed him. Instead, she steeled her voice to be as curt and professional as possible. ‘How do you do, Mr Winter?’
‘We’re back to that again, huh? You weren’t so formal in LA.’
Her head flooded with the memories. Jack’s mouth kissing her, Jack’s arms holding her, Jack’s hands as he … No, she wasn’t going to think about that. ‘I remember a lot of things about LA. Not all of them were pleasant.’
Jack laughed, a low earthy tone that sent a shiver down her spine. ‘That’s my girl. Still sassy.’
‘I am not your girl.’
‘Oh baby, you’ll always be my girl.’ His tone was silky with menace and she shivered. He had used that same tone when he told her in explicit detail what he was going to do to her.
It excited her now as much as it did then. There was no way that she was giving in to this again. ‘Save the theatrics for the silver screen, Mr Winter. Don’t you have a party to attend? Some sweet little starlet who’s begging for your attentions?’ God knew how many women Jack had invited to his playroom since she left. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
She half expected him to hang up, to respond with a sarcastic one-liner as only Jack could. Instead he laughed.
‘Did I say something funny?’ She found it hard to keep the edge out of her voice.
‘No, you said exactly what I wanted to hear. The best Christmas present ever. You still want me.’
‘I do not –’
‘Yes, you do, and you’re jealous as hell that I might have played with someone else. The truth is I haven’t been near a woman since you left.’
Abbie gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Thanks for the update, but I’m no longer interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have a party to go to.’
‘Abbie.’ His voice had an edge to it now.
If she was in LA that tone would signal a punishment. Against her will, her nipples hardened. It was infuriating: five thousand miles away and he could still arouse her. She had to finish this. ‘Thanks for scratching my itch, Mr Winter, but I’m not interested in playing and –’
‘Abbie, get out of that sulky mood you’re in or there will be consequences.’
With that he hung up. Abbie sat down on the arm of the chair. Nesbitt crossed the room and put his head on her lap. She scratched behind his ears. What did he mean, consequences? How could there be consequences? He was thousands of miles away.
Dublin looked different. Even the airport wasn’t the way he remembered. When he left Ireland twelve years earlier, there had been one terminal. Now there were two, and the maze of roads leading to car parks, bus stops and drop-off points was like doing a jigsaw in the dark.
He had only brought hand luggage. It wasn’t as if he planned to stay in Ireland for one minute longer than it took to find Abbie and drag her back to America with him. This time, she wasn’t getting away. He had plans for sweet Abbie. On the journey from LA to Dublin, he had time to imagine what he was going to do to her when he got her back in his bed.
Anything to avoid thinking about what else he faced in Ireland. His family. What would Ciara look like now? She had emailed photos over the years, her engagement, wedding, pregnancy, the birth of her baby, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in the flesh. She had chatted on Skype but refused to turn the webcam on, claiming she’d crack the screen. There had been fewer pictures of his mother, and fewer still of his father. The old man’s face was always the same: stern and unforgiving.
Jack didn’t want forgive
ness. He had done nothing wrong. It was his father who had turned his back, not him.
‘Michael! Michael! Over here!’ He didn’t register the name – it was so long since anyone had called him that – but the screaming woman in the bright-red snow jacket was impossible to ignore.
‘Ciara? What are you doing here?’ Even as he spoke, he couldn’t resist sweeping her up into a rib-cracking embrace. She hugged him back with equal fervour. Even her smell was familiar, and something inside him eased at her welcome.
‘You thick eejit, I came to welcome you home.’ Finally she stepped back and looked him up and down. ‘You’ve lost weight. You’re thinner.’
Perhaps it was true, but he shrugged it off. ‘The camera makes you look fatter than you are, that’s all.’
Ciara gave him a salacious grin. ‘Still, if you weren’t my brother I’d say you were a fine-looking thing – not bad, not bad at all.’
He checked out the arrivals hall to see if he had been recognized. A few people were looking at him and nudging each other, but no one approached or asked for his autograph. His newfound fame as a sexual predator had obviously proceeded him.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ Ciara demanded as she led the way out of the airport. ‘I only found out when I rang up and that trainer fella told me.’ She put money into a machine to get her ticket stamped and led him out into the slush-covered car park.
At least Ciara was dressed for the weather, in a snow coat and heavy boots. Jack’s Converse trainers were already soggy and his leather jacket was not doing a thing to keep him warm. He had forgotten the weather in Ireland. Ciara stopped beside a scruffy Civic and motioned Jack into the front passenger seat.
‘So, is it Michael or Jack now that you’re here?’ she asked as she put the car into gear and pulled out carefully.
‘It’s Jack. Michael ceased to exist the minute I left Ireland.’ Everything felt strange. He was on the wrong side, the car was far too small for a man of his height and Ciara had grown up.
She snorted. ‘Try telling Dad that.’