by Anne Mather
‘By the time Daddy was recovering, Rhys’s wife had been killed in that plane crash. When I read about him—looking after Lucy, I assumed he’d been lying all along.’
Karen blinked. ‘Do you still believe that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jordan hunched her shoulders. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think the way you feel about each other is more important than who was right and who was wrong,’ said Karen evenly. ‘What does Rosa say? Does she think Rhys still cares about you?’
‘I can’t take Rosa’s word for anything,’ Jordan protested. ‘Oh, she says he’s not happy, that he drinks a lot, and that the day after Cilla Hammonds’ party he was bad-tempered, but what does that mean? He may be having problems with his work.’
‘With more than a dozen platinum discs behind him, and his current album selling all over the world, what do you think?’ Karen grimaced. ‘Come on, Jordan! You know better than that.’
‘Do I?’
Karen groaned. ‘You must have some reason to feel the way you do. Are you telling me you and Rhys just talked that night at the party?’
‘Well—no, but——’
‘But nothing.’ Karen pushed herself up from the bed. ‘If I were you, I’d go and see him; tell him how you feel. Or are you going to wait another ten years before you come to your senses?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT was early evening by the time the taxi dropped Jordan at the entrance to the exclusive block of apartments overlooking Madison Avenue. She hadn’t consciously been delaying the moment when she must come here, but driving in from Kennedy Airport at the start of the rush-hour, and checking in to her hotel, had all taken time. In addition the Lorrimers, who owned the hotel where she was staying, had insisted on her taking tea with them and asking lots of questions about herself and Karen and Trade Winds, and by the time Jordan left Third Avenue it was after seven o’clock.
Even so, it had taken a great deal of nerve to pluck up the courage to make the short journey across town. The nearer she came to meeting Rhys again the more uncertain she felt, and the small store of confidence which had helped her to board the plane in Miami had long since been dissipated. It now seemed the height of conceit to imagine that Rhys might be pleased to see her, and the idea that he might enjoy humiliating her again could not be dislodged. She shouldn’t have come, she told herself fiercely, as she stood shivering on the pavement. October in New York was not like October in the islands, and in spite of the thickness of her hooded coat, the wind struck chillingly into her bones.
‘Want something, lady?’
The insinuating voice close to her ear made her start, and she swung round in some alarm to find a flashily-dressed individual regarding her with unconcealed admiration. ‘You need any help, lady?’ he added, his familiarity indicative of the kind of help he thought she needed, and shocked into sudden action, Jordan scurried through the swing glass doors into the apartment building.
As she glanced back over her shoulder, half afraid that the man who had attempted to solicit her might be following, another hand touched her sleeve, and she jerked back in alarm from the uniformed commissionaire who had accosted her.
‘I—what do you want?’
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you, miss.’
The commissionaire released her sleeve, but he was nevertheless regarding her with some suspicion, and belatedly Jordan guessed he was probably employed to check on everyone who entered the building. Perhaps he had witnessed her encounter with the tout, she speculated anxiously. Perhaps he even suspected she knew him. It seemed imperative to explain that she had not been encouraging the man’s attentions, and forcing a smile to her lips, she said: ‘I’m not used to being approached like that. I don’t live in the city, you see.’
‘No, miss.’ The man was noncommittal.
‘No.’ Jordan took a deep breath. ‘I—er—I’ve come to visit someone who—who’s staying here. Apartment 43B. Is it all right if I take the lift?’
‘The person you’ve come to see would be—who, miss?’
Jordan looked longingly at the bank of lifts. Then she sighed. ‘It’s a Mr Williams,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Mr Rhys Williams. He’s staying here for a few days in—in the apartment of a friend.’
‘And that friend would be?’
Jordan looked blank. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know the name of the person your—friend is staying with?’
‘He’s not staying with anyone.’ Jordan coloured. ‘I thought I explained. He’s just—borrowing the apartment. Surely you must know that.’
The man shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well, this is the address, isn’t it?’ Jordan produced the scrap of paper Rosalie had given her, realising too late how grubby it had become. Anyone could write an address on a piece of paper. It didn’t prove anything at all.
The man examined the paper and then handed it back to her. ‘That’s apartment 43B, okay,’ he agreed flatly. ‘But no one said anything to me about—about——?’
‘Jordan Lucas.’ She sighed. ‘Rhys is staying here, then?’
‘Could be.’
‘So couldn’t I just go up? I’m quite trustworthy, honestly.’
‘Couldn’t do that, miss. Not without confirmation. But I will ring Mr Williams and tell him you’re here. If he wants to see you, then okay.’
Jordan’s shoulders sagged. ‘Oh, if you must,’ she muttered wearily, preparing herself for the worst, and the commissionaire crossed to his desk and picked up the telephone.
She tried not to listen to the one-sided conversation, but even so, it soon became apparent that there was a problem. It didn’t surprise her at all when the commissionaire put down the receiver and shook his head, and she had started for the door when he said sharply: ‘Wait!’
‘What for?’ Jordan turned. ‘He doesn’t want to see me, does he?’ She paused. ‘Oh, you couldn’t call a taxi for me, could you? I—well, I’d rather not hang about outside.’
The commissionaire pushed the phone back on to the desk and came towards her. ‘Mr Williams isn’t there,’ he said flatly. ‘But someone’s coming down to see you. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It’s not a good idea.’
Jordan frowned. ‘Someone’s coming down to see me?’ she echoed. ‘Who? Lucy?’
‘Lucy? Oh, you mean Miss Williams,’ said the commissionaire drily. ‘No, it’s not her. It’s someone else. Mr Williams’ manager.’
‘Mr Withers?’ Jordan had never met the man, but she had heard of him, and apparently deciding he could trust her after all, the commissionaire retired behind his desk.
‘You got it,’ he agreed laconically, subsiding into his chair. ‘Take a seat.’ He indicated the armchairs in the waiting area. ‘He won’t be long.’
Jordan didn’t sit down. She was too tensed up for that, and when a burly little man emerged from the nearest elevator, she looked at him anxiously.
‘Miss Lucas?’ he asked, coming towards her, and Jordan nodded. ‘Rhys didn’t tell me you were coming, but am I glad to see you!’
Jordan rescued her hand from his enthusiastic grasp and gazed at him worriedly. ‘Is something wrong? The commissionaire said Rhys isn’t here. Is he at the theatre?’
‘The theatre?’ Bernie Withers blinked for a moment, and then, as if realising what she meant, he shook his head. ‘No, no, he’s at the hospital,’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘I’ll take you there now. I guess you’d like to see him.’
Jordan swayed. ‘Rhys is in hospital?’ she gasped weakly.
‘Rhys? Hell no, it’s Lucy. Didn’t he tell you?’ The little man shook his head. ‘She was knocked down by a crazy motorist yesterday evening. They’re operating on her at this moment. She needed a transfusion, and they had some difficulty in matching the blood.’
The hospital Lucy had been taken to was some distance from the apartment building, and on the way there in the taxi, Jordan tried to explain that Rhys hadn’t known she was coming to New Yo
rk. But no matter what she said, Bernie seemed incapable of taking it in, and eventually Jordan gave up trying to convince him and stayed silent.
‘Is—is he alone at the hospital?’ she asked at last, and Bernie turned from staring out the window to look at her.
‘No. No, Chas is with him,’ he answered swiftly. ‘I would have been there, too, but someone had to make the arrangements about postponing the concert.’
‘Chas?’ Jordan blinked. ‘Oh—you mean one of the band.’
‘Rhys’s closest friend,’ amended Bernie, turning back to the window. ‘They’ve been together since the band was formed. It was lucky Chas was here.’
‘Yes.’ Jordan’s fingers tortured the strap of her handbag. ‘Is she—do you think she’s going to be all right?’
‘Lucy?’ Bernie shrugged. ‘I hope so. Rhys thinks the world of her.’
‘Yes.’
Jordan acknowledged his statement with an unwelcome sense of loss. Lucy was Rhys’s daughter, after all. How could she have ever doubted it?
The huge teaching hospital was a bustling hive of activity. The accident and emergency sections were already in demand, even at this early hour of the evening, and ambulances whined past them as the taxi let them out at the reception area.
Inside, the bright lights were dazzling, but Bernie led the way confidently to where two nurses were stationed behind a semi-circular desk. ‘Is it okay if we go up to the twenty-third floor?’ he enquired, his cockney accent sounding strange in these surroundings, and the younger nurse took his name before checking it with her superior.
‘That’s okay,’ the elder of the two nurses said after a moment. ‘You were here with Mr Williams earlier, weren’t you? You can go up to the waiting area. Miss Williams is still in surgery.’
‘Thanks.’
Bernie patted the desk in gratitude, and then he and Jordan walked down a cork-tiled corridor to where a bank of lifts was situated. The massive lift that transported them up to the twenty-third floor was big enough to take two stretchers, and Jordan’s nerves tightened as they emerged into what looked like another reception area. But although her eyes darted anxiously over the few people present, there was no one who even faintly resembled Rhys, and she sucked in her breath a little tremulously at this second anti-climax.
Bernie knew the way, however, and Jordan had to quicken her step to keep pace with him as he passed through swinging fire doors and turned down yet another corridor. But at the end of the corridor was another waiting area, and Jordan was still some distance away when she recognised Rhys. He was sitting on the edge of one of the tubular, leather-seated armchairs provided for waiting relatives, his arms resting along his thighs, his head bent in weary anticipation. She guessed it was Chas Pepper seated at the other side of him. He, unlike Rhys, was leaning back in his chair and gazing broodingly at the ceiling. But both men gave the appearance of long-controlled impatience, and Jordan felt instinctively that she was an intruder.
‘I—perhaps I ought to wait at the hotel,’ she whispered, catching Bernie’s sleeve, and he turned to look at her in surprise.
‘Wait at the hotel?’ he echoed, speaking in his normal voice, and immediately two pairs of eyes turned in their direction.
Jordan saw Rhys’s face mirror his sense of disbelief that she should be here, and she could hardly continue to put one foot in front of the other as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He stood there, swaying a little, staring at her, and then his attention switched to Bernie and his voice came out harsh and unforgiving: ‘Why the hell did you tell her?’
‘I didn’t!’ As Jordan came to a shuddering stop, Bernie made a defensive gesture. ‘I thought you’d told her yourself.’ He turned to look blankly at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Rhys didn’t know you were here?’
Jordan’s face went white, and then red, and then white again. ‘I did,’ she got out tremulously. ‘In the taxi. But you weren’t listening to me.’
‘Now look here——’
‘Hey, cool it, you lot!’ With Bernie starting to bluster, and Rhys standing cold and forbidding, as if he was carved from stone, Chas Pepper came lazily out of his chair. ‘Does it matter how she got here? She’s here. Hi, Jordan. It’s been a long time.’
‘I’d better go.’ In spite of Chas’s efforts to defuse the situation, Jordan knew she couldn’t take any more of this. ‘I—I hope Lucy’s okay. Give her my regards!’ and without waiting for any response, she turned and hurried back along the corridor.
Rhys caught her before she reached the fire doors. His hand grasped her sleeve, spinning her round to face him, and the force of his action sent her thudding back against the sound-proofed wall. Her head hit the panelling with a sickening crack, and she gazed at him a little dazedly as he imprisoned her there between his hands.
‘If I hurt you, I’m sorry,’ he said harshly, though his expression was anything but apologetic. ‘I just want to know what you’re doing here. If Bernie didn’t send for you, was it Chas?’
Jordan struggled to regain her breath. ‘No one—sent for me,’ she got out jerkily. ‘I didn’t know about Lucy’s accident until I got here. How—how is she, by the way? Mr Withers told me she’d had a transfusion.’
Rhys studied her pale face without replying for several unnerving seconds, then his eyes darkened. ‘If you didn’t know about Lucy, why are you in New York? Don’t tell me you’ve come to see the concert.’
Jordan trembled. ‘You haven’t told me about Lucy,’ she reminded him evasively. ‘Mr Withers told me there was an accident. How badly was she hurt?’
‘I’ll get to Lucy in a minute,’ said Rhys harshly, his eyes glittering with suppressed emotion. ‘Jordan, answer me, damn you! What are you doing here?’
Jordan concentrated on a point just above the unbuttoned collar of his shirt and tried to ignore the disturbing glimpse of fine dark hair that grew there. ‘I—I came to—to see you,’ she admitted scarcely audibly. ‘I—I wanted to speak to you——’
‘You’re speaking to me now,’ he told her, glancing round impatiently when a nurse passed by them and gave them a curious look. ‘Get to the point, why don’t you?’
‘I—I can’t talk here,’ said Jordan unhappily. ‘Maybe later …’
‘Now,’ he insisted roughly. ‘What’s the matter? Did Ferris find out about us? Is he coming looking for me with a gun?’
There was sarcasm in his voice, but there was something else, too, something that wrung her heart. And in spite of the anguish his words might have provoked, Jordan ignored his bitterness.
‘What could Neil find out?’ she asked, facing him bravely. ‘You evidently don’t want me, so why should he feel the need to defend me?’
Rhys straightened abruptly, his features contorting as if she had delivered a physical slap in the face. Breathing shallowly, he met her tremulous gaze with sombre-eyed suspicion, and Jordan’s confidence wavered as he continued his appraisal.
‘Look, I’ve come at the wrong time,’ she muttered unsteadily, gathering the lapels of her coat about her throat. ‘I’m so sorry about Lucy. Believe me, if there’s anything I can do …’
‘There is,’ said Rhys, speaking at last. ‘You can stay with me. I—Chas needs a break. He’s been here since last night, and he needs a rest.’
‘So do you,’ said Jordan impulsively, and Rhys ran a weary hand over his haggard features.
‘I’m okay,’ he said flatly, and then: ‘Will you stay?’
‘If you want me to.’
‘I want you to,’ he essayed, gesturing back towards the waiting area, and with a helpless little shrug, Jordan preceded him back along the corridor.
They reached the waiting area just as a man in a white overall came through glass doors to their right. ‘Mr Williams?’ he said, glancing from Bernie Withers to Chas Pepper, and leaving Jordan, Rhys went forward.
‘I’m Rhys Williams,’ he said. ‘Do you have some news?’
‘Ah, yes, Mr Williams.’ The man nodded pleasantly.
‘I should have recognised you. My name’s Alexander. I’m the surgeon who operated on your daughter.’
‘And?’ said Rhys succinctly. ‘How is she? Is she going to be all right?’
‘I believe so,’ the surgeon nodded, and Jordan saw the way Rhys’s shoulders sagged with relief at the news. ‘If you’d like to come with me, you can see her. She’s still unconscious, of course, but we managed to locate the bleeding and drain the cavity, and I see no reason why she shouldn’t make a complete recovery.’
‘Thank God!’ Rhys glanced round at Jordan, and then, as if having to force his mind to other things, he turned back to Doctor Alexander. ‘I would like to see her,’ he added steadily. ‘And thanks. I can’t tell you what this means to me.’
‘It’s my job,’ said the surgeon simply, and after exchanging a brief handshake with Chas, Rhys followed him back through the glass doors.
It was an emotional moment, and one which Jordan felt she had no part of. But when she would have turned away, Chas slipped his hand through her arm. ‘Don’t go.’
‘I—Rhys doesn’t want me,’ she protested in embarrassment. ‘Not right now anyway. I—er—I’ll leave you my address. He can get in touch with me tomorrow, if he wants to.’
‘Tomorrow? Don’t be a fool.’ Chas grimaced. ‘He needs you tonight, not tomorrow. My God, I thought he was going to pass out when you came down the corridor!’
Jordan looked sideways at him. ‘Why?’
‘Why do you think? Hell, I’ve just spent the last twenty-four hours with him, Jordan, and your name has hardly been off his lips.’
‘My name?’ Jordan blinked.
‘Your name,’ said Chas flatly. ‘You must know how he feels about you. When you appeared out of nowhere, I thought he must have contacted you himself. Goodness knows, he needed you.’
‘Rhys needed me?’
‘Stop repeating everything I say.’ Chas shrugged. ‘From what he’s been saying, I’d have thought there was no doubt about it.’
Jordan swallowed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Chas snorted. ‘That’s why he blamed himself for Lucy’s accident. If it hadn’t been for you, he reckons he wouldn’t have come to New York.’
