No More Lonely Nights

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Love's tough to handle, isn't it?'

  Tears came into the other girl's brown eyes and Sian looked away, not sure what to say to her.

  Abruptly, she muttered, 'Look, I know this isn't any of my business, but I've got to stick my neck out. Are you sure you know what you're doing? I mean, it is quite common for a bride to panic on her wedding day, or so I'm told.' She laughed without real humour. 'Personally, I wouldn't know, of course, I've never got that far, but I've often heard of brides suddenly feeling they've made a mistake. It's a big decision; scary, too, I'd imagine, but once you had gone through with it maybe you would realise it really was what you wanted, after all.'

  'No, that's just it,' burst out the other girl. 'It never was.'

  Sian looked sharply at her. 'Never?'

  'No.' Annette was very flushed, her tearful eyes enormous. 'He asked me and I don't even remember saying yes, but suddenly we were engaged and I felt like someone who had got caught up by something, a tornado, maybe, blowing me away. It all happened too fast and my father was so thrilled. Cass is… well, the man I'm marrying is rich, he can give me so much. Dad isn't after the money, honestly, but he was pleased that I was going to be looked after. Dad isn't very strong; his health is bad and since my mother died we've only had each other, there are no other relatives. Dad was afraid he would die and I'd be alone, so he sort of jumped at Cass, I'm afraid.'

  'But you must have liked… the man you're engaged to,' Sian suggested with care.

  Annette bit her lip. 'When I met him there was someone else, but he went away. He misunderstood, he thought I preferred Cass, but I didn't— only, when Rick, the other man, left, I was miserable, and Cass was there, and I didn't care about anything. It didn't seem to matter whether I married Cass or not for a long time.'

  A great light had dawned on Sian. There was someone else; a man Annette preferred, was in love with, a younger man, Sian suspected, and probably one without much money if he was so jealous of William Cassidy.

  'And then this morning he rang me,' Annette whispered, her voice thick with choked tears.

  'He?'

  'Rick. This other man.'

  'What did he say?'

  The tears were running down Annette's face now. 'That he hoped I'd be happy, but Cass could never love me the way he did. He sounded so unhappy, then he rang off in the middle of saying something, and I got scared. What if he does something stupid? He wouldn't, would he?'

  She looked beseechingly at Sian, who soothed her. 'I'm sure he won't.' Shrewdly, Sian asked, 'Does he live in London?'

  Startled, Annette nodded. 'However did you guess that?'

  'It wasn't difficult,' Sian said, amused. 'But you know, you can't just leave your bridegroom standing at the altar.' Her green eyes focused commandingly on the other girl's face. 'You must ring the church and explain. We'll stop at the next telephone box we see.'

  Annette sighed heavily, but agreed. Sian smiled at her, then got out her suitcase, opened it and hunted for a clean pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Annette changed among the crowding trees; it took her quite a while, and Sian suspected she was crying too much to be deft-fingered, but she left the girl alone while she herself thought through what she should do. Heaven had dropped a once-in-a-lifetime scoop into her lap. No reporter worth her salt could possibly let it get away. If she didn't report this story, sooner or later the rest of the press would get on to it. William Cassidy was news. For all Sian knew, the press had already got the story—had Annette been missed yet? Had her father raised the alarm?

  Annette came out of the trees, carrying her gown and veil over her arm, her white shoes clutched in one hand. She now looked very ordinary: a slim, athletic girl in jeans and a shirt. Sian wondered curiously what William Cassidy had fallen for in her. She was a nice enough girl and quite pretty, but there was nothing special about her.

  Sian grimaced to herself as she thought that although the eyes of love were always blind to faults, they saw what everyone else had missed— the uniqueness of one human being.

  As they drove on, Sian said, 'Annette, I ought to tell you. I'm a journalist, and I was actually asked to cover your wedding.'

  'Oh, really? What a coincidence,' Annette murmured, staring out of the window, chewing on her lower lip. Her voice was abstracted—had she really heard? Sian wondered, preparing to repeat her admission.

  Annette broke in on her before she could get another word out. 'Oh, look,' she said, pointing. 'A telephone.'

  They were passing through a small village street; the telephone was outside a shop and Sian pulled up just beyond it. Annette sat, staring, her pale face a battleground.

  'I can't,' she said. 'He might come to the phone. I couldn't talk to him, really. He's so… sometimes Cass scares me, he's like lightning—you know the way it seems to be tearing the sky up? Blinding light, and a terrible violence. Cass is like that. He can be very polite and sweet, but underneath you always feel there's this possible violence. Rick's ordinary, like me, we suit each other because we're the same. Rick isn't rich, you know, he's a salesman. He used to work for Cass, but he left when… when he walked out on me. He could see Cass liked me, at once.' She turned big, puzzled eyes on Sian. 'Why does he, though? I've never been able to understand that. Why does he want me? I'm not from his sort of class. And he's had so many really beautiful women in his life. He didn't marry any of them—so why me?'

  'It isn't his feelings that matter, it's yours,' Sian said patiently. 'So why don't you just ring your home and tell your Dad? Or ring the church and tell the Vicar? You must do something, Annette. You can't leave them all in a state of utter ignorance. They might get the police.'

  'The police?' Annette looked horrified. 'I never thought…'

  'I can see you didn't, but it's time you did. Go and ring. Put their minds at rest.'

  Annette got out of the car slowly, then stayed there, wringing her hands in a frantic way. 'I can't talk to them,' she wailed, looking at Sian pleadingly. 'I'm so scared. They'll be so angry. They'll shout. Cass…no, I couldn't talk to Cass. And Dad… he might cry, that would be worse. He'll be so upset, and Cass will be so angry. I can't do it. Please, Sian.'

  Sian didn't get it for a second, then she shook her head with vehemence. 'Oh, no, I'm not doing it for you. This is up to you. You got yourself into this muddle, you should get yourself out. You must handle your own life, Annette, and now is a good time to start.'

  She might have saved her breath. Annette got back into the car and cried, and Sian began to see that under that helpless exterior there was something tenacious: a weakness that was a sort of strength because it made other people take control of her life for her, and saved her the trouble. Annette was used to that—expected it, probably demanded it. Was that why William Cassidy proposed to her?

  'What time was the wedding?' Sian asked in the end, looking at her watch.

  'Eleven-thirty,' said Annette, and Sian's eyes widened. It was still only eleven-fifteen; she had somehow believed that Annette had run away just seconds before the wedding began.

  'OK, where do I ring?' she asked, and Annette told her the name of the church. She didn't know the number, but Sian got it from directory enquiries. First, though, she rang her paper and spoke to Leo, who was at once excited.

  'You aren't kidding?'

  'Now why should I?'

  'She ran out of the forest right under your car? In all her bridal get-up? Would you credit it?' He laughed and Sian made a face he couldn't see. Typical of a man, not to mention an editor. Leo was over-sophisticated, cynical. He wasn't here; he couldn't see Annette's face. Annette wasn't real to him, none of the stories they printed were; they were just journalistic fiction unattached to real human beings.

  'She's an unhappy girl,' Sian told him. There was real blood in Annette's veins, real tears on her cheeks.

  'Poor kid,' said Leo. 'I'll switch you through to a copy-typist and I'll check that we can get pictures from the locals. I think there's an agency man down there; if we could
get his pictures exclusively…'

  'Just put me through to copy, would you?' said Sian impatiently. Sometimes Leo annoyed her.

  She rapidly gave a copy-typist a rough story which the subs would no doubt put into better shape, then rang the church and left a message with a man who sounded vague and bewildered.

  'The bride won't be here? I don't understand.'

  'She has changed her mind, she's sorry, she's gone to London,' said Sian.

  'Changed her mind?'

  'Yes, she can't go through with the wedding— will you please tell Mr Cassidy she's very sorry.'

  'Mr Cassidy? He's here.'

  Alarmed, Sian said, 'Well, just tell him,' but the other man had suddenly gone. She heard his voice at a distance, speaking to someone else; then, before Sian could put the phone down, another voice came on the line, a hard, authoritative voice which made Sian stiffen.

  'Who is that?' it demanded curtly.

  'You don't know me, I'm ringing for Annette.' Sian was getting nervous now; that voice was daunting, she could see why Annette had run away.

  'Where is she? Let me speak to her,' he grated.

  'She's too upset to talk,' Sian hurriedly improvised. 'She asked me to let you know that she's very sorry, she knows it is a bit late to do this, but she has realised she can't go through with the wedding.'

  'What the hell are you talking about? Where is she? Put her on the line—or is this some sort of hoax? Are you playing damn silly games with me, whoever you are?'

  'No, of course not.' Even granting that he must be shaken, distraught, Sian wasn't putting up with being bullied and spoken to in that tone of voice. 'I've given you the message, I must go now. Annette is very sorry, Mr Cassidy.'

  'Look, damn you—' he burst out, but she was already putting down the phone. As she turned back to the car she saw Annette drying her eyes and looking at herself in the car wing-mirror.

  'You look fine,' she told her, getting behind the wheel. 'I can lend you some make-up, if you like.'

  'Thanks,' Annette said, then asked huskily, 'Did you…?'

  'I rang the church, yes, and spoke to your bridegroom himself.'

  The other girl went crimson, then white. 'Cass? What did he say? Was he very angry?'

  Sian gave her a dry glance—did she know anything about the man at all? She was a human jellyfish, drifting on seas she didn't comprehend.

  'I think you could say that.'

  The sarcasm made Annette bite her lip again, looking like an unhappy schoolgirl. 'I knew he would be, that was why I couldn't speak to him myself.' She took the cosmetic bag Sian handed her. 'You're very kind, thank you.' Sian started the car again and drove off while Annette was doing wonders to her face with the various cosmetics she fished out of the bag.

  'One thing puzzles me,' said Sian as she drove. 'Why on earth were you carrying your bouquet and wearing your veil?'

  'I don't know,' Annette said, starting to giggle. 'I just ran and didn't stop to think. I was holding the bouquet, you see. My father went off and I stood looking in the mirror at myself. I was ready to leave, then suddenly I knew I couldn't, so I climbed out of the window and started running through the forest.'

  'Running away isn't usually the right way to deal with things,' Sian said quite gently, although she was beginning to feel that Annette needed a few home truths. She was amazingly immature for someone of her age; more an adolescent than a woman. What on earth had William Cassidy seen in her?

  'Where shall I drop you in London?' she asked some time later, and Annette came out of a dazed silence to give her an address. 'Is that where your Rick lives?' Sian asked, and saw by Annette's blush that she was right. How would William Cassidy's rival feel about the runaway bride appearing on his doorstep? Was he seriously in love with her, or had he been a little relieved at losing her to another man? But it wasn't Sian's business; once she dropped Annette off she could forget about the whole sorry muddle. That would be quite a relief, she decided, putting her foot down on the accelerator.

  Her flat seemed tranquil; a haven of solitude. Sian unpacked, had a bath, sat and watched TV and ignored the phone which kept ringing. She knew who it was—Leo, trying to get an update on the William Cassidy story. Leo would want to hear the inside details: where the bride had bolted to and with whom—but he wasn't getting any of that from Sian. She had given him a scoop as it was; the other papers would have got on to the cancelled wedding later, but her paper would have it in type with pictures, with any luck. They might even get an exclusive; it depended how many media people had been at the wedding.

  The phone began to ring again. When it had stopped, she switched it on to the answering machine, made herself some cocoa and went to bed, amused by Leo's persistence. Over the next half-hour she heard the phone start to ring again and again, although each time it cut out as the machine came into operation. How many messages was Leo leaving her? she wondered sleepily, on the edge of oblivion.

  It had been a very tiring day; a lot had happened, and she was asleep before long. The next thing she knew was that someone was hammering on her door. Sian came awake with a violent start and fell out of bed, literally. She didn't hurt herself, but she was dazed for a moment, and lay there listening in disbelief to the reverberations of some-one's fist hitting the solid wood of her front door. She had a doorbell. He rang that, too, at the same time.

  Leo? she thought incredulously, but knew it wasn't. Her intuition told her that her angry visitor could only be one man, but surely Leo hadn't given him her address? That was against the rules. Editors never gave out reporters' names and addresses, to anyone.

  Unless, of course, they had a lot of clout, and used it ruthlessly! She got to her feet and switched on the light. Grabbing up her filmy white negligee, she gave herself a rapid glance in the bedroom mirror; her blonde hair was ruffled, her skin pale, her green eyes startled. She looked as nervous as she felt, but there was nothing she could do about that, so she put on her negligee and hurried to the door.

  As soon as she began to open it a body thrust it wider and she fell back, staring at the man who confronted her.

  She had had no real idea what William Cassidy looked like, but she knew at once that it was him. It couldn't be anyone else. This was a very angry man and a very tall one, with a face full of violence, in odd juxtaposition to the sort of sleek tailoring associated with society weddings: morning suit, white carnation in the buttonhole, dove-grey silk tie, smooth shirt.

  'Where is she?' he asked in a voice hoarse with rage, and Sian nerved herself to defy him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  'I can't tell you that!' Sian began. William Cassidy kicked the front door shut without taking his eyes off her. The slam made her jump, her wide eyes wary.

  'Oh, yes, you will,' he assured her, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristling.

  'Don't you threaten me! I gave Annette my word not to tell anyone where she is, and I'm going to keep my word.'

  The force of her voice made his eyes narrow; for the first time he really looked at her. She saw a glitter of curiosity in those cold grey eyes. He coolly looked her up and down, and she seethed with resentment over the expression on his hard face.

  'How admirable,' he drawled. 'You must be a very unusual reporter—the others of your trade I've met haven't had the same scruples.'

  She wished she could deny the slur on her profession, but, she thought with a grimace, she knew some of her colleagues a little too well.

  'Yes, well, sorry about that, Mr Cassidy, but we aren't all out of the same box.'

  His brows arched. 'No? But it seems your so-called scruples didn't stop you taking advantage of Annette's confidences. Your paper will be printing the story tomorrow. Your editor wouldn't let me see the copy, but he admitted enough to make it clear that you used Annette ruthlessly.'

  Sian went red. 'I can understand why you're angry.'

  'Oh, can you?' he broke in bitingly, and she bit her lip.

  'How did you find out about
me?' she asked suddenly, and he leaned on her front door to consider her drily.

  'The local journalist told me your paper had rung his office, who rang him at the church. When I tried to talk to your editor on the phone I got nowhere, so I drove up to London myself to shake your address out of him.'

  'I'm sorry you've gone to all this trouble, but I'm not telling you where Annette is. You've wasted your time,' Sian said uneasily, hoping he was going to admit defeat and go. She wasn't too optimistic, though; he didn't have the face of a man who easily admitted defeat, and she could well understand why Annette had fled him. This was very disturbing material for any woman to work with; Sian was not easily daunted by men, but for him she made an exception. She found him quite unnerving.

  'You don't understand yet—' he began, but she interrupted, shaking her head.

  'I do, I assure you! I know men find it hard to forgive a blow to their ego.'

  'Oh, you know that, do you?' He eyed her drily. 'And although I've only known you a short time, Miss Christian, I get the feeling you have given quite a few men a blow to the ego.' He watched the surprise and then the resentment show in her green eyes, but before she could say anything else he shrugged his powerful shoulders and said crisply, 'This is just wasting time. Look, Miss Christian, it's essential that I find Annette. Her father had a heart attack when he discovered she had run away.'

  Sian gave a sharp gasp, and stared at him. Was he telling the truth?

  He read her expression and smiled coldly. 'If you want to check that statement, I can give you the name of the hospital and the ward he's in!'

  'Poor Annette,' Sian murmured, frowning, believing him then. 'Is it serious?'

  William Cassidy hesitated, his brows drawn. 'I'm no doctor,' he said at last, and Sian watched him, guessing that he knew more than he was saying. 'Now, can I have Annette's address?' he demanded.

  She thought quickly. 'I promised not to tell you.'

  'Circumstances have changed, surely?' he snapped, and she nodded.