She was within kissing distance now, and hadn’t resisted.
‘But after this operation—when we know Ty’s over it all—we’ll be sorting this out. Understand?’
She was so close he could feel the warmth of the air breathed out from her lungs, and her wide-eyed gaze held apprehension as well as excitement.
It was the excitement that made him ignore the apprehension—the excitement that made him close that small gap between them and claim her lips in a kiss, remembering, too late, where other kisses had led.
But this time he stopped it before they went too far, gently holding her a little apart from him while they both caught their breath.
‘We’ve a lot ahead of us over the next few days,’ he said. ‘Let’s wait until it’s over, then make time for ourselves. Time to really think about what this is between us—and whether it’s strong enough to overcome everything that’s happened in the past.’
Luminous eyes searched his face, and her lips, slightly swollen from the kiss, parted as if there were things she wanted to say. But in the end she simply nodded, then grinned at him.
‘OK!’ she said, finally putting her agreement into words. ‘But shouldn’t we have one last kiss to seal the bargain?’
Without waiting for his reply, Steph moved closer, putting her arms around his shoulders and holding his body hard against hers. Then she raised her lips and brushed them across his mouth, her tongue teasing for entry. Harry might not know it, but for her it was a kiss that sealed more than the bargain. It sealed the misery of the past away where it belonged, freeing the happy memories from the clouds of doubt and distrust that had hovered over them since Martin’s death.
From now on, she’d remember friendship, and the things she’d really loved in Martin—his humour, his generosity—and she’d open up her heart to Harry so love, if it existed beyond the attraction they were both obviously feeling, could come in.
By three o’clock the following afternoon, she wasn’t so sure all the old animosity had been shut away. In fact, if Harry had appeared, she’d have let fly at him though she knew it wasn’t his fault Fanny was cutting the ribbon at the blasted opening ceremony. She just needed someone to bear the brunt of her own bad temper, caused by the unbelievably difficult task of dressing a nearly four-year-old for this special occasion.
The dress, presented to Fanny by Doreen the previous Sunday, was so frilled and flounced that Fanny looked like a doll from the top of a very expensively decorated Christmas tree. Steph thought it ridiculous, but Fanny obviously loved it. The first argument had been which shoes she should wear with it.
Steph’s decree that only her good black patent leather shoes would do was met with a minor tantrum, Fanny thinking her purple plastic sandals would be far better. This overcome, they then argued over where to tie the sash, how to arrange her golden curls, whether or not four-year-olds could wear lipstick—Steph, ‘Definitely not’, Fanny, ‘But Grandma lets me’—and how late Fanny could stay up on this, her first sleep-over at her grandparents for more than two years.
Grumbling inwardly in frustration over the whole silly business, Steph finally reached the hospital where she handed her child over to an over-excited Doreen, ten minutes before the ceremony was to begin. She waited while Doreen passed Fanny’s little overnight bag to the hospital receptionist—doing double duty organising tour guides and acting as a cloakroom attendant—then she wished Fanny luck, kissed her goodbye and walked out the front door.
The podium was set up on the curving driveway in front of the main entrance, with seats, already filling with invited guests, in front of it. Beyond the chairs, staff and other interested observers stood, and Steph found herself a place where she could see proceedings without anyone’s head getting in the way.
Which was when she realised she’d forgotten the camera.
‘Here! I’ve got to sit in a chair up front with the other rent-paying tenants. Would you take a photo for me?’
Harry’s voice skidded up her spine, causing the little hairs at the back of her neck to prickle with awareness. Steph took the camera, enjoying the touch of his fingers as they tangled in the transfer, all animosity forgotten in the pleasure of just being near Harry again.
‘Sure you won’t come tonight?’ he asked gently, and she knew by the concern in his eyes he was anxious for her—anxious about her mental state on this particular day.
‘No, but I’m OK,’ she told him. ‘With Fanny doing this—with her staying at the Quayles. Even with the hospital name. Martin was their son and they loved him and there was a lot of Martin that deserved remembering.’
‘Oh, Steph!’ Harry breathed her name, and the love she saw shining in his eyes all but overwhelmed her. ‘If you only knew how good it is to hear you say that.’
He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek, adding, ‘I have to go or someone will pinch my seat, and I promised Fanny I’d be right there in the middle of the front row.’
‘You promised Fanny?’ Steph echoed.
‘On Thursday when she was in the rooms. We had a talk about it and I promised I’d be there for her.’
He smiled and walked away, and Steph, who’d been wondering if things could get much better, realised they could—they had.
The ceremony went off without a hitch—Steph feeling inordinately proud of Fanny. But once the official party, including Fanny, left, the bulk of them heading for the Quayle mansion for a buffet dinner, Rebecca claimed Steph’s company.
‘My kids have gone to their father so it’s girls’ night out,’ she said, when Steph protested about it. ‘Besides, you’ve been working so hard you need a break before the real work of Ty’s operation and post-op work begins.’
They had an early dinner at a restaurant in the centre of Summerland’s tourist area, then, after discussing various movie options, decided a long walk on the beach would be far nicer than sitting in a stuffy movie theatre.
Steph arrived home a little after ten, to a house that felt curiously empty as Tracy had gone surfing with friends further down the coast and would be away until Monday evening.
The message light on the answering machine was blinking, and for once Steph felt no anxiety as the flashing red eye lit the darkness. Though it might be Fanny, ringing up to say goodnight.
She hit the replay button as she walked past, heading for the kitchen and a drink of water.
Not Fanny, but Harry.
‘Steph, is Fanny with you? Did you pick her up from the Quayles’? Phone my mobile as soon as you get in.’
Cold dread seized Steph’s heart, clutching like an icy hand and squeezing so tightly she couldn’t breathe.
Telling herself not to panic, she rushed towards the phone and with fumbling fingers dialled Harry’s mobile.
‘Of course she’s not with me!’ she screamed into the phone. ‘How long has she been missing? Have you called the police? Or did you just assume I had her and keep on partying?’
She slammed down the phone and rushed out the front door, car keys clenched in her fist because she couldn’t trust her shaking fingers not to drop them. The car started, and she summoned every ounce of will-power in her possession and forced herself to drive, slowly and carefully, towards the Quayle mansion.
Police cars in the drive told her at least something was being done to find her daughter, but when a young constable tried to stop her parking behind them, her control cracked and she yelled at him, telling him to stay away from her—to get out and find her child.
‘Steph!’ Harry appeared from nowhere, but though he tried to put his arm around her, she dodged away.
The fear she’d held at bay as she’d driven to the house erupted in volcanic anger, and she turned on him, flinging accusations at him, blaming his return—his interference in her life—saying things that even in her terrified state she knew were unforgivable.
He stood back and took it all, bowing his head as if to acknowledge her right to this rage, then, when she’d wound down and anger had b
een replaced by gut-wrenching sobs, he put his arm around her and led her carefully up to the house.
‘Are you sure this isn’t another of Doreen’s tricks?’ she demanded, hesitating on the doorstep of the house she still hated entering. ‘How could this have happened if she or Bob weren’t involved?’
Harry heard the fear and grief that closed her throat, making her voice hoarse and scratchy.
‘They are as upset as you, Steph,’ he said quietly. ‘Doreen had to be sedated and you only have to look at Bob to know he had nothing to do with it.’
He eased her through the door, carrying his own guilt like a weight around his shoulders, echoes of his own promise for Fanny’s safety—‘I’ll watch over her’—hammering in his head.
Steph had let loose her rage on him, but she couldn’t possibly berate him as much as he had blamed himself.
While as for any hope of a relationship after this…
One step forward, four hundred steps back, though his personal feelings were of no account right now.
‘When did it happen?’
She was looking around the foyer as if she’d never been there before—never lived in this huge mansion.
‘We don’t know, Steph,’ he answered. ‘Not precisely. Doreen took her up to bed at eight, read her a story and tucked her in. She stayed until Fanny went to sleep at about eight-fifteen. Then Mrs Woods went up to check on her a little before nine.’
He paused, because his mouth was dry with the terrible tension he felt, just repeating what had happened.
‘At first Mrs Woods thought she might be hiding, but when she couldn’t find her upstairs, she alerted Bob and the dinner guests helped search the house.’
‘Then, no doubt, Bob came up with the notion I’d taken her and you all relaxed,’ Steph snapped, as her anxiety overflowed into anger once again so she had to strike out—to hurt someone as badly as she was hurting.
‘I don’t think we ever seriously considered that,’ Harry said, aligning himself with the Quayles with that ‘we’.
But at that moment Bob appeared, looking as if he’d aged twenty years since she’d seen him that afternoon.
‘Stephanie!’ he said—making a desperate plea of her name and walking towards her with his hands outstretched in supplication.
Steph saw his pain—knew it mirrored her own—and took his hands, pressing them tight—comfortee turned comforter.
‘I’m going back outside,’ he said. ‘I know I’m probably useless out there, but I can’t bear to do nothing.’
Steph nodded, and watched him go, then she looked around the foyer with its high walls reaching up two storeys, and the grand staircase stretching to the upper floor. She needed something to do as well, because it seemed as if the walls were closing in on her. She bit back a scream of sheer frustrated terror.
Harry must have sensed she was close to collapse. Up to now, he’d been careful not to stand too close, but now he put his arm around her shoulders again, helping her towards the steps, talking calmly, though his voice was croaky with emotion.
‘The police are undertaking another search of the house and gardens, while two detectives are in the library. They’re taking the names and addresses of all the guests, questioning them about what they might have seen, then letting them go. The guests are in the living room, so you probably don’t want to go in there. Would you like to sit here on the steps or go out by the pool?’
Steph shook her head.
‘I can’t just sit and wait—I need to look for her.’
‘Where, Steph?’ he said, and she shook her head, feeling the tears of utter helplessness sliding down her cheeks.
‘Can I look at her room? Is her bag gone?’
‘I’ll ask someone,’ Harry said, hovering by her side, within touching distance but again not touching.
A harassed-looking man, clad in faded jeans and a checked shirt, appeared at that moment.
‘Is this Mrs Quayle?’ he asked, coming towards them.
‘Prince. My name is Prince,’ Steph said. ‘I’m Fanny’s mother. What’s happening?’
‘Brad Drew, Summerland CID,’ he said, putting out his hand but obviously not expecting her to respond to the politeness. ‘We’re searching for your daughter—we’ve circulated her description. We’ve fingerprint experts coming to dust the bedroom, and we’re questioning all the guests. Two television channels covered the opening of the hospital. We’re arranging to get copies of all the footage they shot, so we’ll know who was there.’
He paused for a moment, then added, ‘I’ll need to ask you some questions as well, ma’am. About where you were tonight and who was with you. And about who might want to harm you in any way.’
‘No one,’ Steph said, but the coincidence of the hospital opening and Fanny’s disappearance had suddenly clicked in her mind. Horrified by her suspicions, she grasped the policeman’s arm. ‘The hospital opening? She was there on the podium, granddaughter of the owners. Could a sick mind think a hospital owner must have money? Could someone have taken her for ransom?’
She knew her fingers must be biting into his arm, for she’d felt him flinch, but the look he exchanged with Harry puzzled her. It was almost one of relief, as if kidnapping was a good option to explain her daughter’s disappearance.
But neither man explained the look and she was too distraught to think more about it, asking again about Fanny’s overnight bag and if she could see the bedroom.
‘The bag is gone—Mrs Woods noticed that immediately. It’s better if you don’t go up there,’ the policeman said. ‘Not because the room’s upset in any way, but the fewer people we have in that part of the house, the more chance there is of the scene-of-crime officers finding something helpful.’
Steph nodded, and felt her shoulders slump with helplessness.
‘But I need to do something!’ she said.
‘Come into the kitchen and have a cup of tea,’ Harry suggested. ‘Brad needs to ask you questions—about friends and relatives, about Fanny herself and whether she’d go off with someone she didn’t know. You need to put aside your anxiety for a little while and think about the answers.’
Harry’s voice seemed to echo in a vast empty space inside her head, but when he put his arm around her shoulders and led her into the kitchen, she went. The way her knees were shaking, sitting down was definitely a good option, and she doubted whether she’d have found her way anywhere without Harry to lean on—Harry to lead her around.
Brad’s questions began simply enough—name, address, details of where Fanny went to kindy. But as he persisted, Steph sensed some purpose behind them, but was too consumed with worry to work out what.
‘And although your daughter was in the official party at the opening of the hospital—named after your husband—you weren’t.’ It was a statement, not a question, so Steph ignored it. Then Brad followed it up with a real doozy.
‘You’ve a history of bad relations with your parents-in-law,’ he said bluntly.
Steph looked from Harry to Brad, as the undertones she’d sensed in Brad’s questions suddenly became clearer, but before she could protest, Harry exploded.
‘Where Steph was tonight or why she wasn’t in the official party are nothing to do with Fanny’s disappearance,’ he said, his voice not loud but deep with anger. ‘There is no way she’d hurt a hair on Fanny’s head, nor would she pull a stunt like this for attention, or revenge, or any other macabre reason your policeman’s brain might throw up.’
‘You know Dr Prince that well?’ the policeman asked, and Steph looked at Harry, who’d turned towards her, his eyes full of worry and pain.
‘I know her as well as I know myself. She had nothing to do with Fanny’s disappearance, so why don’t you get someone onto checking her alibi, if that’s what you need to do, so we can move past this to more productive questions?’
Brad made some reply, but Steph didn’t hear it as her head was repeating the words Harry had spoken—‘I know her as well as I know
myself.’ For some reason, she found comfort in that simple declaration, and they gave her the strength she needed to keep going a little longer.
By Monday morning, there was still no news in spite of the fact Fanny’s picture had appeared in every newspaper and had been splashed across television screens throughout the country. Neither had there been a ransom demand, a bad sign now Steph had figured out what the look between Harry and Brad had meant. To them, kidnapping for ransom was a good option—the only other one being that some sick or perverted stranger had taken the child.
Even she knew that a kidnapped child had some hope of being returned…
‘It wasn’t as if it was a sit-down dinner. How could she possibly disappear from a house with fifty people wandering around the rooms on the ground floor?’ Steph demanded of Brad, who was sitting in her living room, going over the situation yet again. Again asking questions in the hope some chance remark or response might reveal a motive for Fanny’s disappearance. ‘Why choose a time like that? When there were so many chances of being caught?’
Bob stopped pacing by the window and came to sit beside Steph on the couch.
‘Whoever did it might have chosen a time like that deliberately,’ Brad reminded her, while Bob put his arm around her shoulders, offering silent support and comfort.
Bob had rarely moved from Steph’s side, he and Harry sitting out the long days and even longer nights with her. No one saying much as tortured thoughts were best left unspoken.
And though in her heart she knew she needed him near her, Steph had protested about Harry’s presence. With Ty’s operation only twenty-four hours away, there was so much he should be doing.
‘I can postpone it,’ he’d said earlier, when she’d practically had to push him out of the house to go up to the hospital to check on Ty’s admittance.
‘No way,’ she’d told him. ‘That boy’s been building up to this—to postpone it would be cruel to him.’
She’d squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.
‘Go, Harry,’ she’d said, and he’d gone.
But his departure had left her with a new sense of emptiness, one that made her think about how quickly Harry had found his way back into her life, breaking through the careful defences she’d built up to protect herself from hurt.
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