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  But she would have to speak to Justin again before Monday.

  She frowned. What day was it? Thursday? No, Friday. Her calendar was twenty-four hours out of date. Which meant she must speak to Justin the day after tomorrow. She sighed. She dreaded telling him she wouldn't be returning as she'd promised.

  Like her Aunt Maggie, he would probably think she had engineered the whole thing.

  She should never have told him about her relationship with Matthew, she reflected ruefully. In his opinion, Matthew was a selfish bastard who deserved everything that was coming to him, and Rachel had done the only thing possible in getting a divorce.

  Of course, when she had related the whole story to him it had been over a drink at the end of a particularly long and arduous day, and she had held nothing back. It had been soon after she'd moved to London, while she was still feeling raw and betrayed, and she had cried very easily in those days. But he had been so sympathetic, and she had badly needed a shoulder to cry on.

  Naturally, she had got over it—eventually. But the trouble was, Justin still remembered how distressed she had been then.

  And when she had asked him for time off to attend Barbara's funeral, he had initially refused permission. Only her avowed intention of going anyway had swayed his judgement, but subsequent events would only reinforce his original impression.

  Dr Newman arrived to examine his patient just as Nurse Douglas was helping Rachel back from the bathroom. Dressed in only the flimsy polyester nightdress Matthew's au pair had lent her, Rachel couldn't help feeling rather exposed, and this sensation was made all the more embarrassing when Matthew again followed the doctor into the room.

  With scarlet cheeks, Rachel stumbled hastily into the bed, dragging the covers over her trembling form. Who the hell did Matthew think he was, walking into her room unannounced? she thought indignantly. It wasn't as if he had any right to be here.

  He wasn't a doctor, and he wasn't a friend. He was simply a man she had once been foolish enough to marry, and it had to be said—if it weren't for him, she might not now be in this ignominious position.

  'Well,' said Dr Newman, after the nurse had hastily straightened the covers Rachel had so untidily hauled over herself. 'And how are you feeling this morning?'

  Rachel wished she could say she felt much better. She wished she was able to announce she was well enough to get up out of the bed, and leave Rothmere before anything more disastrous happened. But she couldn't.

  'Tired,' she admitted instead, avoiding Matthew's careful appraisal. 'I don't think I slept awfully well last night.'

  'No.' Dr Newman did not sound too surprised. 'Well, I think we should have a look at your head, don't you? Perhaps I can do something to make you feel a little easier.'

  Rachel nodded. 'All right.'

  But her eyes moved to Matthew, and, as if sensing her reaction to the other man's presence, Dr Newman turned his head. 'I think it might be as well if you left us, Mr Conroy,' he declared smoothly. 'You can come back when we've finished. I think Mrs Conroy would prefer it.'

  There was a pause when Rachel half thought Matthew was going to protest, but then, with a brief nod of his head, he departed. But not before Rachel had noticed how Nurse Douglas's eyes followed him from the room.

  Removing the dressing from her scalp was painful, and, lying with her face buried in the pillow, Rachel was hardly conscious of the muffled exchange going on between the nurse and the doctor. She didn't know how big the cut was, but it felt enormous, and she wondered if they had shaved her head around the injury. She wanted to groan. Things just seemed to get worse and worse. How would she look with a bald patch behind her ear? she fretted. If only she hadn't gone for a walk on Wednesday morning. If she'd not had that argument with Aunt Maggie over borrowing her rubber boots and walked out of the house, none of this would have happened. She should have stuck to her guns and gone back to London on Tuesday night, as she had intended. She could bet Aunt Maggie was wishing she had, too.

  'There we are.' While she had been thinking of other things, the dressing on her head had been renewed, and Dr Newman assisted her back on to her pillows with gentle hands. 'Does that feel easier? You must tell me if it doesn't.'

  Rachel winced as her movements caused her head to throb, but it did feel less rigid. 'Yes,' she murmured. 'Yes, it does feel a bit better.' She frowned. 'There's no problem, is there?'

  'Not really.' Dr Newman smiled, but Rachel didn't like the qualification.

  'Not really?' she echoed. 'Does that mean there is? I'd really rather know, Doctor. Please don't keep me in suspense.'

  Dr Newman sighed. 'I'm not. Believe me. It's just that—well, with wounds of this kind there can be complications.'

  'What kind of complications?'

  Rachel was anxious, and, shaking his head, the doctor seated himself on the side of her bed. 'It's nothing serious,' he assured her. 'Just a little swelling around the wound, that's all. I'm sure that by tomorrow it will have disappeared. But for the moment I'm going to ask Nurse Douglas to give you an antibiotic, just to be absolutely sure. All right?'

  Rachel bit her lip. 'If you say so.'

  'I do.' He smiled again, and rose to his feet. 'And now I think you should rest. I'll tell Mr Conroy that I don't think you should have any visitors just now.'

  Rachel was grateful for his understanding, and she was glad to close her eyes for a little while. But when she opened them later and discovered it was already late afternoon, she felt a helpless sense of panic. It was frightening to realise how little control she had over herself at the moment.

  She looked about her, and found she could do so without encountering the throbbing pain that had previously accompanied any movement of her head. She could even lever herself up on to her pillows without any attack of dizziness, and although the effort tired her it was definitely an improvement.

  She wished Nurse Douglas had been there to see it, but the young nurse was not in the room. Perhaps she was downstairs talking to Matthew, thought Rachel cynically, recalling the revealing look the girl had cast in his direction. Matthew had always had that effect on women, she remembered, unwillingly aware that the knowledge still had the power to scrape a nerve.

  She sighed frustratedly, not really wanting to entertain thoughts of that kind. It shouldn't matter to her what Matthew did, or with whom. He wasn't her concern any longer. If he found Nurse Douglas attractive—so what? All she wanted to do was go to the bathroom. That was more important to her than speculating about Matthew's present sexual activities.

  Remembering the nurse's admonition that she shouldn't attempt to get out of bed without assistance, she lay for a few more minutes, waiting for Nurse Douglas to return; but she didn't. And the situation was getting quite desperate. Short of hammering on the floor, there was no way she could attract attention, and as she knew this suite of rooms was in the west wing, and remote from the more regularly used rooms on the ground floor, that means of attracting notice was not very practical.

  Deciding she would have to disobey instructions, after all, she weakly pushed back the covers and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Her head swam a little as she pulled herself upright, but she was relieved to find she felt a little stronger than she had done earlier in the day.

  Gaining a little confidence, she tested her weight before getting to her feet, and then looked across the room at the bathroom door, in much the same way as a marathon walker might view the winning post. It was only a few yards, she told herself firmly. And it wasn't as if she was an invalid. All she had done was cut her head, for goodness' sake!

  The filmy nightgown billowed about her as she pains-takingly made her way across the floor. Just a few more steps, she breathed encouragingly, letting go of the rail of the bed to totter the few steps to the bathroom door. With her hand clasping the handle, like a lifeline, she looked back towards the bed with a feeling of disbelief. Had she really come so far? she thought, aware of the film of sweat that had broken out all over her body.
Dear God, she hoped Nurse Douglas would come to help her back to bed. She really didn't think she could make it on her own.

  All the same, it was a great relief to gain her objective, and afterwards she leant over the basin, dousing her hot face with cool water. She felt hot and shivery all at the same time, and her legs were like jelly as she straightened up and reached for the towel.

  The sound of the bedroom door being opened reached her as she was folding the towel back on to its rail. The relief she felt was tremendous, and, supporting herself with the door-frame, she moved to show herself. 'I'm here,' she was saying wearily, quite prepared for Nurse Douglas to be angry with her, but it wasn't Nurse Douglas who had come into the bedroom; it was Matthew.

  The sight of his tall figure, dark and disturbing in black jeans and a matching black silk shirt, was like a body blow. He was the last person she had expected—or wanted—to see in her present condition, and she swayed against the woodwork, wondering how she was going to make it to the bed now. Why couldn't it have been Nurse Douglas? she fretted. All she really wanted was to crawl back between the sheets.

  'You ought not to be out of bed,' said Matthew abruptly, dropping whatever it was he had been carrying and starting across the room towards her. 'Where's Nurse Douglas? Does she know what you're doing?'

  'Don't—don't come any nearer!' exclaimed Rachel weakly, lifting one trembling hand and holding it out in front of her. She had just remembered the scarcity of what she was wearing, and, while modesty was of little importance in her present situation, she still had some pride left.

  But Matthew ignored her. Brushing her protest aside, he swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the bed. Then, after settling her against her pillows, he drew the soft quilt about her.

  It was a relief, she had to admit it, but that didn't prevent an automatic sense of outrage. This ought not to be happening, she thought, staring up at him frustratedly. They were divorced, for God's sake! His second wife had just died! And yet she could still feel the strength of his arms about her, and the heated warmth of his body had been unbearably familiar.

  'Are you all right now?' he enquired, as she fumbled for a tissue to blow her nose, and Rachel nodded cautiously.

  'I'd have managed,' she muttered, avoiding his eyes, and concentrating instead on the creamy wisp of paper he had rescued for her from its box. 'What are you doing in here anyway? I didn't realise my being an invalid in your house gave you the right to walk into my bedroom unannounced!'

  'You should be glad I did,' said Matthew shortly, folding his arms across his chest as if to control some latent desire he had to retaliate in kind. 'What were you doing exactly? You've got water all down the front of your nightdress.'

  Rachel felt her cheeks reddening, and was furious. For heaven's sake, she was far too old to start blushing again. But a covert examination of her nightgown proved that he was not lying and, to add to her embarrassment, in places the damp material was clinging to her breasts.

  Drawing the quilt even higher, she said tersely, 'I was washing my face and hands. I didn't realise I'd splashed myself.

  Thank you for drawing my attention to it.'

  'Don't be ridiculous!' Matthew's mouth compressed. 'I just can't imagine why you couldn't have waited until Nurse Douglas came back. You looked to be on the point of collapse when I came in.'

  'Well, I wasn't.' Rachel knew she was being ungrateful, but she couldn't cope with Matthew right now.

  'If you say so.' His features hardened. 'But for goodness' sake stop behaving as if I'd never seen you in the nude before '

  'I'm not in the nude!'

  'No.' But his expression said as good as. 'Even so, I have been married for a great number of years. The female form is no great novelty, believe me!'

  Rachel gave him a bitter look. 'Oh, I do,' she countered tautly. 'So—do you mind telling me what you're doing in my room?'

  Matthew sighed, and turned to pick up the object he had dropped when he had charged across the room earlier. 'I collected your things,' he declared, setting the small suitcase on the padded ottoman at the foot of the bed. 'I thought you might prefer to wear your own nightdress.' He paused, and then added grimly, 'Your attitude makes me wish I'd never bothered.'

  'Oh.' Rachel didn't know what to say. Contrition warred with self-justification, but the former won. 'I'm sorry.'

  'So you should be!' Matthew spoke vehemently at first, but then, as if prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt, he shook his head. 'It wasn't easy, you know,' he went on. 'Your aunt wasn't exactly pleased to see me. Not when I told her why I was there. I think she's wishing you had decided to go straight back to London. Your being here—well, you can guess how she feels.'

  'And she's right,' murmured Rachel ruefully, shredding the tissue between her fingers. 'I shouldn't be here

  '

  'You didn't have a lot of choice,' retorted Matthew drily.

  'And it was my fault, after all. Besides, surely we can deal with this like civilised adults? It's not as if your being here can hurt Barbara now.'

  'No.' But his reference to Barbara was unsettling, just the same. How had he really felt about her cousin? she wondered.

  And why had she started asking herself that question, when the answer could be of no.interest to her?

  'So,' he said, after a moment, 'how are you feeling? Um—

  Maggie and Geoff are coming to see you tomorrow. Your—er—

  your uncle sent his best wishes.'

  'Thank you.' Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  She was not looking forward to seeing either her aunt or her uncle, but she could hardly tell him that. Indeed, she found it incredibly difficult to say anything to him in her present position, and, remembering how she had stood up to him by the lake, she marvelled at her own audacity.

  'You scared me half to death, you know,' he added suddenly, his hands falling to his sides, and her pulses quickened at the violence in his voice. Until that moment his attitude had not led her to believe that what had happened had affected him very deeply, but suddenly there was an element of raw emotion in the room. 'I thought I'd killed you,' he continued, pushing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. 'You'd be amazed how that focuses the mind!'

  Rachel could not let him go on. She didn't want to know what it had focused his mind on, and, striving for something to say, she thought of his daughter. 'Did— did you find Rosemary?' she asked, rather inanely, as he was unlikely to be standing here talking to her if the child was still missing, and, although he frowned at the obvious non sequitur, he eventually nodded.

  'She came back,' he said briefly, lifting his shoulders, and then letting them fall as he breathed out again. 'Believe it or not, she was worried about you.'

  'Was she?' Rachel's lips lifted. 'I'd never have believed it.'

  'No.' Matthew's eyes were disturbingly intent. 'Are you going to tell me why?'

  'No.' Rachel sighed. 'I don't think so. Not right now, anyway.'

  Matthew tilted his head. 'That presupposes that we'll be talking to one another again,' he pointed out evenly, and she forced herself to look up at him.

  'And won't we?' she challenged, meeting his eyes for the first time, and he actually smiled.

  'Maybe,' he agreed. 'If that's what you want.'

  'I'm in your house, Matt,' she told him tersely, not quite having got the answer she had expected. 'What I want doesn't come into it.'

  Matthew's smile disappeared. 'You don't have to adopt that attitude, Rachel. I thought we were beginning to communicate at last.'

  'Communicate?' Rachel almost choked on the word.

  'Yesterday—no, two days ago—you were practically foaming at the mouth because I was playing with your daughter.'

  'That's an exaggeration!'

  'Is it?' Rachel's nails dug into her palms. 'I thought that was how I came to be here.'

  Matthew scowled. 'That was below the belt!'

  'Yes. Yes, it was.' Rachel shifted a litt
le desperately against the pillows. If he didn't go soon, she was going to humiliate herself completely by bursting into tears. But she didn't want Matt to be kind and considerate. She didn't want him to offer her sympathy and conciliation. She felt much safer when he was looking at her as he was now.

  'So—do I take it you don't want to see me again?' he enquired harshly, taking his hands out of his pockets and balling them at his sides, and she closed her eyes against the treacherous desire she had to reach out and touch him.

  'I—just think I'm rather—tired,' she got out unsteadily.

  'Thank—thank you for getting my things. I do appreciate it.'

  'No problem,' he responded, the clipped detachment in his voice eloquent of his feelings. 'I'll tell Nurse Douglas you want to rest, shall I?'

  'If—if you would.'

  Rachel opened her eyes again, and for a heart-stopping moment she caught his brooding gaze. And it was electric. The look that passed between them owed nothing to the conversation they had just had. Indeed, it might never have been. There was such a searing intimacy in that exchange that, in spite of the fact that she was lying down, her lower limbs went weak.

  And then it was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. Like a fire that was suddenly extinguished, his lids descended, and she was left with the uncanny suspicion that she had imagined the whole thing.

  Wishful thinking, she thought bitterly, as the door closed behind him. But why? Why? Why, after all these years, was she even considering that she might have made a mistake by walking out on him...?

  CHAPTER SIX

  RACHEL was seventeen when she first met Matthew Conroy.

  Although she would have liked to have stayed on at school and taken her A level examinations, her cousin Barbara, who was nine months her senior, had left school at sixteen, and naturally it was expected that Rachel should do the same. After all, she had no money of her own to support her, and it wasn't fair that her aunt and uncle should bear the burden of her education for a further two years.

  So, instead of staying on at the comprehensive school, she got herself a job in Penrith, and enrolled at night- school. Of course, it wasn't always easy getting home from Penrith after the classes, particularly during the winter months, when the roads around Rothside became icy or snow-bound. But she was determined to finish the course, and the encouragement of her tutors more than made up for any disparagement she received at home.