Merlyn's Magic

by Carole Mortimer

  'Memories, Merlyn,' he corrected painfully. 'I'm haunted by them!'

  She nodded abruptly. 'I understand.'

  'I doubt it.' He looked sad. 'Maybe one day—'

  'Don't, Rand,' she choked. 'Don't give me hope when you know there is none!'

  His throat moved convulsively. 'Can I kiss you one last time?'

  Her eyes widened at the request. 'Do you want to?'

  'God, yes,' he said with feeling, but he made no move to touch her as he tensely waited for her answer.

  This man had just said goodbye to her after telling her he still loved his wife and yet she could see that he did truly want to kiss her. She didn't understand him, but that was nothing new. She didn't understand herself either as she moved into his arms.

  Their mouths fused in heated longing, Rand drinking from her lips again and again as he curved her breasts against his chest, his very gentleness tearing her heart from her body. She sobbed low in her throat as she became even more his, wanting to beg him not to leave her, to plead with him to take her to London with him and just forget the rest of the world existed. But she didn't.

  And so the kiss went on, until both of them were shaking with a need neither had any intention of assuaging.

  Rand was finally the one to push her firmly away from him, unclasping her hands from about his neck. 'It really was good between us, Merlyn, and you are wonderful,' he told her gruffly. 'The problems all lie with me. I just wish—Wishing is for fools and children.' His voice hardened. 'Just keep away from Hillier, okay?' he prompted with concern.

  She blinked up at him, still dazed by his kisses. 'Mark?'

  His mouth tightened. 'I don't think his vindictiveness is over yet. And with me gone—'

  She stiffened indignantly as she straightened in the seat. 'I took care of myself for twenty-six years and I'll continue to do so,' she snapped, pushing open the car door to climb out. 'Mark Hillier doesn't frighten me!' she scorned.

  Rand leant over in the seat to look up at her. 'Nevertheless, take care.'

  She slammed the car door forcefully in his face, turning on her heel to enter the hotel, nodding abruptly as several people she knew acknowledged her as they sat in the bar area, all the time conscious of the BMW accelerating away and taking Rand from her life once and for all.

  She was shaking uncontrollably by the time she reached the sanctuary of her room. But she wouldn't cry, she told herself, refused to cry—as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Rand didn't love her, couldn't love her, and she had known that all along. But she loved him more than ever. How could she go on without even the little he had been prepared to give? Did she even want to?

  She knew what her mother's answer to that would be, one of those women who believed no man was worth the heartache they caused, only the fact that she was known as Dr Summers preventing her using the Ms that Merlyn had told Rand she hated so much. Oh yes, her mother would tell her to pull herself together and get on with her life, the way she had after Mark's treatment of her six years ago. But Rand wasn't Mark, and the thought of never seeing him again made her drop down on the bed in a state of emotional exhaustion, the tears still wet on her cheeks.

  She dreamt of Rand, the bitter Rand, Rand the lover, and that other rare Rand, the happy Rand that she had glimpsed only fleetingly. And as she dreamt she cried and muttered in her sleep, calling him back to her, needing him, wanting his arms about her as they had been the last few nights. But he didn't come to her, and her despair deepened.

  Just as suddenly her dream changed. She was on a desert island, and it was hot, so hot, her clothes stifling her, hindering the movements of her body. It was so hot she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe…!

  She fought against the heat, against the sun beating down on her so brightly, wondering why, even in her dreams, Rand didn't come to her. The heat was becoming unbearable, taking the air from her lungs even as she gasped to retain it, hurting her eyes. She needed air, she had to have air.

  She woke in a panic, sitting up on the bed, her breath catching in a choked sob as she saw the flames licking their way across the room towards the bed, the smoke making her cough with its density. The fire had been the heat and light in her dream, the smoke preventing her from breathing.

  As she climbed out of the bed the flames made a path across the carpet towards her, her panicked gaze fixed on their yellow-orange glow, just the heat from them seemed to burn her.

  The door suddenly appeared a very long way away, but it was her only chance of escape, she had to get to it. As she started to step past the flames, the fiery tongues reached out to her and Merlyn started to scream as she saw that the bottom of her nightdress had caught fire.

  She beat at the flames, but they just kept burning, and she turned to run to the door, feeling the flames against the tender flesh of her legs, feeling herself starting to sink to the floor as the pain became unbearable, reaching out for the door handle, only to fall as she did so, the flames engulfing her as she hit the carpeted floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was the pain that woke her, the pain of cold air on her legs, the legs that felt as if they were still on fire. Oh God, the fire! She groaned as she became fully conscious of her pain.

  'It's all right, Merlyn,' her mother soothed. 'Don't try to move, darling.'

  Her mother? It was her mother's voice, and yet it didn't sound quite right. She must be dreaming again, her mother had never sounded choked with emotion in her life. No, she was dreaming, there had been a lot of dreams lately, Rand saying goodbye to her, the fire— It came back to her again with a vengeance; the fire.

  Was she dead? She had felt as if she were dying as she was burnt alive.

  'Does it hurt badly, darling?' Her mother was speaking again. 'The burns aren't too serious, but— Darling, shall I get you something for the pain?' she asked anxiously as Merlyn groaned again.

  Pain. Yes, she was in pain. And if she were dead she wouldn't be able feel pain.

  Her lids flickered open, the lashes feeling as if they were tangled together, the blazing light making her flinch until she realised it was just the sun shining through the window. What window? It couldn't be her hotel room, she remembered that had burnt.

  Her mother was sitting beside the bed, an older version of Merlyn, although her hair was more auburn than red, her eyes more hazel than green. But that they were mother and daughter could never be doubted. Although her mother's usual beauty, despite her years, was marred by lines of worry and fatigue, her eyes anxiously searching Merlyn's face.

  'Well, you gave us all a scare.' She recovered quickly from whatever softer emotions had beset her, talking with her usual brisk manner.

  Merlyn's mouth quirked ruefully at her mother's reversion to character, although even that small facial movement gave her pain. It seemed as if her whole body hurt her.

  'The burns to your legs are just superficial,' her mother told her reassuringly as she saw the panic in her daughter's questioning gaze. 'Although I'm sure they still hurt,' she added in a gentler tone. 'When I think of what could have happened…!' She couldn't hold back her shudder of horror. 'Your bedroom was completely gutted,' she revealed shakily. 'They only just managed to pull you out of the room before you were overcome by the smoke.'

  'They?' Merlyn managed to croak, even that small effort making her cough.

  'It's the smoke inhalation,' her mother supplied dismissively. 'It will go off eventually. And "they" were the hotel manager and another young man who happened to be passing and saw the smoke coming from under your door. James and Anne Benton have been beside themselves with worry.'

  Her mother was definitely getting back to normal, making it sound as if it were all Merlyn's fault everyone had been put to the bother of worrying about her!

  'Your father and Richard too, of course,' her mother added unnecessarily. 'Although I insisted they both go back to work today once we knew you were going to be all right. Margaret and the children stayed in London, of co
urse; I can do without them under my feet.' Dr Summers effectively put out of her thoughts her son's wife and her two grandsons. 'I realise it's difficult for you to talk, Merlyn.' She looked at her daughter reprovingly. 'But aren't you going to say anything?'

  Her mother was like a runaway express train when she got going, and anyone who dared to cross her path without being invited to was likely to get flattened, but when you were invited to join in the conversation it was in the nature of a royal command, and during the next half an hour Merlyn managed, by one-word questions, which were all her coughing fits would allow, to find out that she had been in hospital sixteen hours, that the Bentons, Liza and Christopher had been sitting with her when her family arrived to take over. Her mother didn't mention Rand, so she could only presume he had gone to London as planned and was still there.

  She also learnt that her legs were burnt extensively but not deeply, although the mess they were in made her feel weak when she managed to persuade her mother to help her move her head so that she could look at them.

  'It isn't pretty, I'll agree.' Her mother eased her back down on to the pillow. 'But you'll soon be back to your beautiful self again. And that should please that director of yours,' she added somewhat indignantly. 'He's done nothing but pace up and down the corridor demanding to know when you'll be well enough to resume work!'

  Merlyn's chuckles turned to another fit of coughing—for which she was firmly reprimanded.

  The next few days were some of the strangest she had ever known, cosseted by her mother to such a degree that her other visitors had to sneak into her room during the odd times Merlyn managed to persuade her to go back to the hotel for a rest or to have a meal.

  'She soon put Christopher in his place,' Liza chuckled on Merlyn's third day in hospital, sitting on the edge of the bed with a complete disregard of the notices that said you weren't to sit on patients' beds. 'She told him you would be ready to work again when she said so and not before!'

  'What did Christopher say to that?' Merlyn's voice was still a little quavery, although she no longer coughed every time she spoke.

  'Well, he didn't say "yes, Dr Summers" or "no, Dr Summers" like everyone else around here has been.' The subject of their conversation strode into the room with his usual arrogance.

  'No,' Liza acknowledged mockingly. 'He said "of course, Dr Summers"!' she taunted.

  Christopher gave her a pained look, laying the bouquet of roses he had brought down on the table at the end of the bed, the white buds just in bloom, putting the newspapers he carried down beside them. 'Your mother really is a battleaxe, Merlyn!'

  She looked unconcerned by his plight. 'This is the first time in my life she's been this protective of me—and I'm loving every minute of it!'

  'Well, no one else is,' Christopher muttered. 'She even has all the hotel staff jumping to her smallest whim.'

  'My mother doesn't have whims!' Merlyn protested.

  'You should have seen Mark's face when she turned up at the hotel that first night.' Liza's eyes glowed with merriment. 'I thought he was going to pass out on the spot!'

  Merlyn gave a rueful smile. 'The two of them never did get on together.'

  'I would say that's an understatement,' Christopher drawled. 'Even I feel sorry for him!'

  'Well I don't,' Liza dismissed. 'I quite enjoy seeing him so subdued!'

  Merlyn picked up the roses Christopher had brought to gently touch the velvety buds. 'Thank you, they're beautiful.' She gave him a winsome smile; Rand hadn't even bothered to send her flowers, although she had received several other bouquets from well-wishers.

  She had had quite a few visitors too the last few days, Anne and James managing to pop in separately at some time during the day, and yet as far as she was aware Rand hadn't even telephoned to see how she was. Anne had to have told him about the fire, and he hadn't cared about her enough to call her personally and see how she felt. Even crying still hurt her, but when she was alone at night she couldn't hold back the tears.

  'I have to keep in your mother's good grace somehow,' Christopher answered her comment about the roses. 'Do you know she even has Anne organised into putting her feet up for an hour each day?' he scorned. 'You should have heard the telling off James got when she saw how hard Anne works in the hotel.' He shook his head in wonder. 'And she put your father back on the train to London so quickly after he visited you yesterday he probably still doesn't know where he is!'

  'Don't you believe it.' She gave the ghost of a smile, doing her best to banish thoughts of Rand, although it wasn't easy. 'You get used to being organised by my mother after a while.'

  Christopher still shook his head disbelievingly. 'They say if you want to see what the woman will look like in thirty years' time look at the mother; no wonder you're still single, Merlyn!'

  'Dr Summers has her Stirling qualities,' Liza was the one to defend. 'Her concern for Merlyn to name just one.'

  'I'll never know how Merlyn had the nerve to go into acting,' Christopher drawled mockingly. 'And talking of acting,' he looked at Liza with narrowed eyes, 'don't you have a script to study?'

  'I—'

  'Or something?' he added softly, pointedly.

  Liza raised her brows, standing up with a shrug. 'I can tell when I'm not wanted. Just remember that Dr Summers will be back in about half an hour or so,' she warned before kissing Merlyn on the cheeks and leaving.

  'As if I'm likely to forget!'

  Merlyn smiled at Christopher's shudder. 'She really isn't that bad.' She had come to realise that herself during the last few days, her mother's almost regimental style of organising all those about her usually done for the other person's good and not her own. Her mother was also a dedicated doctor, and while she might have resented the interruption to her career her daughter's birth had made twenty-six years ago she was certainly putting Merlyn and her welfare first now.

  Christopher took Liza's place on the bed, picking up Merlyn's hand lightly in both of his. 'I saw the tears in your eyes just now; he hasn't come to see you, has he?' he probed gently.

  Their clasped hands swam in front of her vision as the tears she had been holding back threatened to cascade down her cheeks. 'No,' she choked, making no pretence not to know who he was talking about. There was only one 'he' who had ignored the danger she had been in and the pain she had suffered since then.

  'Never mind,' Christopher replied briskly, putting her hand down on the bed to turn and pick up the newspapers he had brought with him. 'Have you seen these?' He held them up excitedly.

  She shook her head. 'The nurse hasn't brought mine in today yet.'

  He lay the newspapers flat on the bed. 'You've become famous overnight,' he told her as he held up the first paper in the pile.

  Merlyn blinked as she recognised the blurred black and white photograph on the front page as being her. It was one of the photographs from her portfolio, very glamorous, making her look twice as attractive as she really was with the strategic lighting in the studio. The lurid headline read 'Actress almost perishes in mystery fire!'

  She took the newspaper out of Christopher's hand to slowly read the story beneath the headline. Her expression was rueful as she looked up at Christopher. 'The film doesn't come out of it too badly publicity-wise either, does it?' she derided.

  He shrugged. 'It's going to be a fantastic film,' he said immodestly.

  She picked up the second newspaper, and then the third. She seemed to have made the headlines in all of them. 'So,' she sat back against the pillows, 'is this "dramatic" enough for you, Christopher?' She challenged the claim he had once made about the ending of the film not being dramatic enough for him.

  He flushed angrily. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

  She shrugged. 'Well, the public's interest in the film has been piqued now.'

  'So?' He was very tense.

  Her mouth twisted. 'So you no longer need your "dramatic end". Accident-prone-Annie's giving you all the publicity you need.'

  Christopher s
tood up. 'I hope you aren't implying I deliberately arranged those accidents to achieve that?'

  Of course she wasn't, she was just so tense about Rand's lack of concern for her that she had hit out at the first person she could, unfortunately it had to be Christopher. She could see how much she had angered him. 'Of course not,' she sighed. 'I only—'

  'You only think it!' he cried furiously. 'The police believe the maid left a smouldering cigarette in your bin by accident when she came in to turn down your bed. Do you think I arranged that, too?'

  'Christopher—'

  'That's a hell of an accusation to make, Merlyn.' His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes deeply blue in his pale face.

  'Mr Drake!' Merlyn's shocked mother stood in the doorway observing them both. 'That is no way to talk to a sick woman.' Her indignation filled the room. 'You shouldn't be in here at all—'

  'Don't worry,' he bit out icily. 'I'm going.' He shot Merlyn a narrow-eyed glance. 'I think your daughter is suffering from a delayed case of shock; she's certainly having hallucinations!' He stormed from the room.

  'Well!' Her mother's stunned gaze followed his retreating back. 'What was all that about?'

  Merlyn closed her eyes, wishing she could shut out the whole world. She had insulted and enraged Christopher because of her hurt and anger towards Rand; she wondered if he would ever forgive her for the things she had said—and the things she hadn't said.

  'Merlyn?' her mother prompted gently as her daughter's eyes remained closed, muttering about unauthorised visitors as she assumed Merlyn had fallen into an exhausted sleep, removing the 'messy' newspapers from the coverlet before quietly arranging the roses into a vase.

  Merlyn had known she couldn't keep up the pretence of sleep all afternoon and evening, but she managed to do so until her mother insisted on 'waking her up' to have her tea.

  'You must keep up your fluid intake, darling,' she scolded.

  Merlyn was feeling too disheartened to fight her mother's more wilful character, even more so after persuading her mother to let her use the telephone to call the hotel and Christopher, only to be told he wasn't there! She needed to talk to him, to apologise, to make him understand it hadn't been him she was angry with at all. She would have to live with her recriminations until he could be found.