* * *
Liam Henley met them at the door to his wife's private room. He hugged Cíara with the stiffness of someone desperate for contact but unused to such spontaneous gestures. She hugged him back, the walls around her heart crumbling in the simple act of giving and receiving reassurance.
“Thank God you're here. She's resting. They've done so many tests; I didn't know they could do so many. The doctor's supposed to come and talk to us.”
Margaret Henley lay propped up against the pillows, her face so pale it as hard to tell where the bandages started and her cheek and forehead ended. Obviously in some pain and disorientated, she still made a valiant effort at a welcoming smile when they went into the room.
“How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I'm just grand. It was just a little bump to the head, but everyone is fussing so...”
“A little bump to the head doesn't knock you out for several hours. You need to be fussed over a bit,” Cíara said, reaching for the older woman's hand. Margaret Henley gripped her granddaughter's fingers in her own frail ones and smiled.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Of course I remember what happened, or most of it. I got home from Lillian's – your other grandmother's – about 3 am. Had to take a taxi because I didn't want to drive. Was a little worse for wear, to tell the truth,” Margaret said, and Cíara was intrigued to see a faint flush of color creep into the woman's cheeks.
“You'd downed a few drinks when we saw you yesterday evening,” she said.
“Oh, yes, and a few more before we all said goodnight. Gracie was planning to stay at Lillian's overnight. And your grandmother asked me to stay over, too.” The flush was replaced by a look of wonderment. “Imagine that – me and Lillian under the same roof without being at each other's throats…”
Cíara thought it was pretty amazing herself, but she was more interested in the events that led to her grandmother being in hospital. “At least we know Granny Somers didn't thump you one.” She grinned.
“No, no. I think a lot of things have changed. But I got home late and didn't bother putting on the lights. I know that old house like the back of my hand. Waggers didn't make a sound when I went in, but you know, he's old and he was fastened in the kitchen – Mary Malcolm had been by and fed him and let him out for his evening constitutional.
“So I went straight up to my room…and there was someone there.” Her fingers tightened on Cíara's. “I was so frightened. I knew it had to be that burglar everyone is talking about, and I wondered what he would do when he realized I was there. He swung around and….and he pushed me. I fell over and hit my head on the big chest of drawers by the door. And I don't remember anything else until William was there, tapping my cheeks and calling my name. He was crying...” And Margaret Henley had tears in her eyes, too.
“Did you get a look at the burglar?” Winters asked, ignoring the sharp look Cíara threw at him.
“Just this figure, all dressed in black. And a black woolen hat – what do they call them? A balaclava, pulled right down over his face. But he wasn't very big – probably only an inch or so taller than me, slenderly built. Could even have been a woman, but he shouted something at me – something that sounded, I don't know, foreign. But it was certainly a deep voice, a man's voice.”
The door opened and a white-coated doctor came in. “Mr. Henley?” he asked, looking around the room.
“Yes?” Liam asked, and there was trepidation in his voice.
“Good news. Mrs. Henley, there's no sign of a fracture in your skull, although there is definitely some concussion. I want you to stay with us for the next 24 hours, and then if all is well you can go home. Any sign of dizziness, headaches, that kind of thing, you press the call button immediately. But I'd say you were one lucky lady in all this.” The doctor signed a brief notation on the clipboard at the bottom of Margaret's bed. “I'm leaving a note for some mild pain killers, if you need them. I can't give you anything stronger or anything to help you sleep, because of the concussion. But it looks as though you'll be right as rain in a few days.” With a smile that took in the entire room, he was on his way again.
Liam Henley slumped down into a chair. “Oh, God, I was so afraid...” He leaned forward and gripped his wife's hand. “Whatever would I do if anything happened to you?”
“Oh, you old fool. Jonathon, would you mind taking this old eejit down to the cafeteria and making sure he eats something? He's been hanging around me like a wasp around a honey pot. Cíara, you'll stay with me while they're gone, won’t you?”
The message was obvious – Margaret Henley wanted Cíara alone. With a good-natured shrug, Winters nodded to Liam Henley. “We know when we're not wanted, Liam. Let's go find breakfast.”
When they were finally alone, Margaret Henley looked at the bedspread where her fingers were twined with her granddaughter's.
“Something like this makes you see your own mortality,” she said, her voice thin. “I actually thought, for a few moments, that he would kill me. I thought I was going to die.” Tears welled up in the older woman's eyes, and Cíara sent up a silent prayer for five minutes alone with the burglar who'd brought this awful fear and insecurity into the eyes of her haughty grandmother.
“But some things are a blessing in disguise.” Margaret Henley’s voice was stronger. “I had such a good time with Lillian and Grace yesterday. Sometimes you can be lonely without actually realizing it. Your grandfather and I, we've been everything to each other, the only comfort we had after your father was killed. Now I need something from you, and I know you've hated us in the past and blamed us for so many things and...”
Cíara swallowed past a sorrow the size of a watermelon in her throat. “I'm just getting a whole new perspective on the past, and seeing that maybe there are shades of gray amongst all these blacks and whites. Granny Somers was always so sure that everything was your fault…”
“She was grieving, too. She thought if we'd accepted the marriage that her daughter would have lived. Maybe she was right. But…well, I explained the reasons your father left us that night in a rage. We can't put the clock back, no matter how much we might long to. And Lillian had lost everything, too. I think she wanted to keep you to herself partly because she was afraid of being alone – at least I had Liam to turn to – and partly to punish us because she was angry at everything.”
“You're being very compassionate,” her granddaughter said, remembering the harsh things she'd heard from her other grandmother.
“I think, my dear, that the sins were on both sides. Grief makes people do some awful things sometimes.” Margaret Henley fell silent, her eyes closed as if exhausted.
“Perhaps you'd better get some rest. There'll be lots of time for catching up.”
But her grandmother grasped her hand tightly. Searching her granddaughter's face, she said: “Promise me, Cíara, that if anything happens to me, you'll look after William?”
“Nothing's going to happen to you.” She didn't want to accept this new burden of responsibility, wasn't ready for it. There was already too much to absorb.
“One thing this has proven to me is that we don’t know what's going to happen. I was so happy when I got home, so happy that there'd been so much fence mending done and maybe we could look forward to a less bitter future. And then…then this happened.” The tears that had shone in Margaret's eyes now trailed down her cheeks. “Just promise me you won't let him be too lonely?”
And Cíara, who for so long had only wished terrible things for Margaret and William Henley, nodded her head as tears ran down her own cheeks. It seemed little enough to promise after all the years of hurt, especially if it gave comfort to the frail woman who lay so palely in the hospital bed.
* * *
Winters was waiting for her when she left Margaret Henley's room. She was grateful for his silence, even though she knew there were questions he wanted to ask. Her own head was buzzing with questions, ranging from how come she hadn't seen the g
ood side of the Henleys before, to who the thug was who had attacked her grandmother – and what could she do about it?
“I know it's none of my business, but Margaret and Liam don't seem so bad as grandparents go,” Winters commented.
She ground her teeth. Since when was he on first name terms with her grandparents?
“You're right – it is none of your business. And who made you the expert on grandparents, anyway?” She knew he was right, but that meant admitting that she might have been wrong all these years.
“Sometimes, Cíara, you are just too much.” He rubbed his hands across his face. “I'm not an expert on grandparents, never having had any of my own. At least, none that I knew. But if I did have some, I wouldn't mind if they were like Liam and Margaret.”
She glanced sideways at her 'partner'. The sad note in his voice had struck her, and not for the first time she wanted to get to know more about this man. To know about his background, his family, the things he liked, what it would be like, making love with him….
“Where would you like to go?” he asked as they pulled out into the bumper-to-bumper traffic of a typical Dublin morning rush hour.
And for a wild moment she almost said: “To bed with you.” But she bit the words back, telling herself they came from a need for reassurance while her world was being stood on its head. Instead she growled: “To the office. There's work to be done – I'm not letting that pond scum get away with this.”
She glared at Winters as he chuckled.
“What are you giggling at?”
“Just a relief reaction. You're directing your temper at someone else for a change.”
“Very funny.” She sank back in her seat, grateful for once to leave the driving in his capable hands as she gave herself up to thoughts of the Diamond Darling.
Once they reached the office of Winters & Somers, Private Inquiry Agency, she was even too busy to grind her teeth at the nameplate he'd had placed on the door. She gave a passing grunt at the audacity of the man – putting his name first on her business! – then went right to the filing cabinet and pulled out the slim file on the Diamond Darling that Bill had given them.
“You know that's supposed to be confidential police information?” he said, and smiled at her rude response. Cíara split the file in two, handing one pile of papers to Winters and slapped the other half down on the desk in front of her before heading over to put the kettle on for instant coffee.
“So, boss, what are we looking for?”
“Any name that consistently pops up on the lists of visitors to the houses that have already been burgled.”
“What about the Henleys? Do you have a list of the guests at their last dinner party?” Winters asked.
“Their last dinner party was the one you were at, and I can make up a list because I knew everyone there.” She sat down and rapidly listed the names of the Henley's dinner guests, including some of the cream of Dublin society.
She handed him a copy of the list, tapping the pencil against her lip. “The Diamond Darling has got to be one of these people, or someone connected to these people. It's just that they are all very, very wealthy in their own right – why would they need to get into this sort of thing? In fact, as far as I can see, the only one on this list not a millionaire is yourself.”
“So far as you know – or did you run a credit check on me?” His eyes narrowed. But he knew that she could not have accessed his credit rating or she wouldn't have reached the wrong conclusion. “Of course, you could be said to fit into the same category. And you were desperate for money.”
“I was not!”
“Cíara, I know about the mechanic you helped. I think it was an admirable thing to do.”
There was something about the tender note of pride in his voice that made her focus her attention on the paperwork in front of her. It was the only way she could hide the slight flush on her cheeks – and the wetness in her eyes that his tone produced.
Winters rattled the papers in front of him and continued. “Bill O'Malley has already run these lists through the police computer. There are several people who were at all the dinner parties, but only three who fit the size and general description of the Diamond Darling. You remember he – or she – must be able to fit through a small window, so we're looking for someone with a slight build.
“On the list, one is a teenaged girl and while it's possible she could fit through the windows, she's got solid alibis for most of the actual burglary dates. The second is an arthritic 80 year old – he fits the size requirements, but I doubt if he'd be shinning up a drainpipe and in through anyone's bathroom window.”
Winters paused, not meeting Cíara’s eyes. “Then there's your friend, Anton Wallace.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cíara chewed at her bottom lip. She’d hoped that opening Winters’ eyes to what she actually did – and the fact that she wasn’t really seducing these men – would have taken that suspicious look from his eyes. Had she been wrong?
“So, just what do you know about Wallace?”
Was he avoiding her eyes because he didn’t trust her – or could he be actually jealous? Something perverse in Cíara’s heart hoped it was jealousy.
“Jon, this was just another job to me.”
Winters reached over and grasped her hand. Standing and pulling her up with him, he murmured: “So you weren't even a damsel in distress when I did my White Knight act?”
She backed away slowly, mesmerized by the deep blue of his eyes. Now she knew how small rodents felt when the snake was hungry. And there was nothing at all she could do about it, except maybe book an immediate flight to some South American country and disappear into the jungle…
She was against the wall with nowhere to go. He pulled her against him. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“The last time we stood like this, in this office, you kneed me. I want you to know that this time I won't feel the need to be constrained in my reaction.”
She swallowed.
“There's just one thing I don’t understand about all that – why, if you'd already got Wallace following you like a happy puppy dog, did you scream for help? If all you were doing was tempting the man, you’d done your job and could have just left. So why the rescue scene?”
“What are you thinking, Winters?”
“I'm thinking maybe you and Grace are running a little blackmail scam of your own – not only do you get paid by the pathetic women who hire you, but you get a bonus payment from the target, as well. Classic blackmail – pay up or we’ll tell what you did.”
Cíara's chin was just about sitting on the floor. Just when she thought they understood each other. She was beginning to get a glimmer of what was in his mind – and if she wasn't so angry, it would be laughable.
“Is that what you were doing, Cíara? Were you setting me up as another client, with a view to blackmailing me? If so, you have an inflated view of what writers earn – and of how concerned I'd be at the publicity. Of course, your view of your attractiveness isn't inflated. I'd say it’s spot on. Maybe I could just get a little taste on account?”
And he leaned forward, his intentions obvious as his lips hovered above hers and his hands roved over her body.
“Don't make me give you a shiner on the other side of your face!” she threatened, but Winters wasn't backing down any. And when his mouth fastened on hers, the heat that arced between them took them both by surprise.
It took a heroic act of willpower for her to come up for air. Pushing her hands flat against his chest, she pushed him away. And tried to ignore her body's protests.
“Sit down, Winters. I think we need to straighten something out.”
For a moment she thought he would ignore her. There was still a fire in his eyes that didn't look like it would die down without some major action. Then he took his seat behind the big new office desk and waited. But he didn't take his eyes off her, and she felt as though that fire was burning her up as she walked across to her ow
n chair.
“Somewhere we've got some very crossed wires. What, exactly, do you think I do?”
Winters grunted. “I think it's pretty obvious what you do. I'd hoped that, if I could help you get this agency up and running, that you'd quit the game and get yourself a proper life.”
She was going to strangle him. And if she was blessed with a woman judge when the case came to court, there was no way she'd be convicted… Her hands clenched into fists at her sides even though her cheeks burned. He thought she was on the game? A hooker? Some words he'd said earlier in their relationship came back to her. A working girl. No wonder Bill had spluttered into his coffee! So what had Winters been doing, making that bet about her being in his bed before the year was out – or she could keep the office furniture? Her cheeks stained red as she remembered the day, right here in this office, when she'd almost helped him win that bet.
“You think I'm a hooker? A streetwalker? That's what you mean by 'a working girl'? Here it means a career girl. That's me. I just don't know…how could you have spent any time at all with me and think…” she had to gulp back a sob that threatened out of nowhere. “Do you actually think I really did have sex with those men? Is that what's burning you up?”
She dragged in a deep breath. Anger fizzed all through her – and almost, but not quite, hid the hurt that shot to the core of her. “Get out. Get out of my office. And take your filthy mind with you!”
“Cíara!” Looking at her flaming face and reading the hurt truth in her eyes, Winters wanted nothing more than just to disappear into the shabby rug. Wanted to be thrown into a pit of live snakes. Wanted to spend the rest of his days on traffic duty in New York. No fate could possibly be worse that being shut out of Cíara's life because he'd made a stupid, pig-headed assumption.
He was wrong – more wrong than he'd ever been about anything in his life. And in the process he'd hurt the woman he loved. Oh, crap, now where had that thought – that truth – come from?
“I'm sorry.” The simple statement was the best he could do.
Winters & Somers Page 17
