Night Heat. Anne Mather

well-schooled expression. ‘Yes, I knew.’

      Sara’s lids fell defensively. ‘You didn’t mention it.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’

      Vicki hesitated. ‘I thought it might upset you. Your parents, and so on.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Sara’s head lifted. ‘That was sweet of you, but honestly, it is more than ten years since the accident. And I’m not a child any more.’

      ‘No.’ Vicki grimaced. ‘Oh, well …’ She picked up another pad of cotton wool. ‘So what was Tony saying? Did he tell you the boy is only a teenager?’

      ‘Mmm,’ Sara nodded. ‘It’s a tragedy, isn’t it?’

      ‘It’s very sad,’ conceded Vicki slowly. ‘But I can think of worse fates.’

      ‘Vicki!’

      ‘Well! I should live in such idyllic surroundings, waited on hand and foot!’

      Sara gasped. ‘You don’t mean that!’

      ‘I do.’ Vicki reached for her cup of hot chocolate. ‘I’ve been there. I know.’ She paused. ‘Do you remember me telling you, we once did a shoot in Florida? That was where we did it. Lincoln Korda’s place: Orchid Key!’

      Sara’s eyes widened. ‘Go on.’

      ‘Go on—what?’

      ‘Tell me about it—Orchid Key, I mean. Is it very exotic?’

      ‘Very.’ Vicki’s tone was dry. ‘It’s an island, actually, just off the coast. You could swim there from the mainland, if they’d let you. But of course they don’t. It’s virtually a fortress. Guards—armed guards—everywhere. I guess Lincoln Korda owns a lot of expensive stuff.’

      Sara couldn’t resist. ‘Did you meet him?’

      ‘Who? Lincoln Korda? No chance. He seldom uses the place. According to Tony, he’s a workaholic.’

      ‘Yes.’ Sara was thoughtful. ‘He told me his brother lives in New York. But what about Mrs Korda? Doesn’t she prefer Florida?’

      ‘Maybe. As long as Lincoln Korda’s not there, of course. They’re separated, you know. Have been for years.’ Vicki finished her chocolate and got up from the dressing table stool. ‘You know,’ she said, viewing Sara’s concerned face with wry sympathy, ‘people like that shouldn’t have children. They can’t afford them—emotionally speaking.’

      Three weeks later, Sara had practically forgotten all about Jeff Korda, when she unexpectedly got a telephone call from his uncle.

      ‘Sara!’ Tony Korda sounded distraught. ‘Thank God I’ve managed to get hold of you. Where’ve you been all day? I’ve been ringing since one o’clock!’

      Sara blinked, glancing at the plain gold watch on her wrist. It was barely six. ‘I do have a job, Mr Korda,’ she reminded him drily. And then as she remembered her friend was away, in Scotland, her stomach contracted. ‘It’s not Vic——’

      ‘This has nothing to do with Vicki,’ he forestalled her swiftly. ‘Look, could you meet me? In—say—half an hour?’

      ‘Half an hour?’ Sara was taken aback. ‘Mr Korda, I don’t think——’

      ‘This isn’t an assignation,’ he declared flatly. ‘I just want to talk to you, that’ all.’ And when she demurred: ‘It’s about Jeff. My nephew, remember?’

      Half an hour later, entering the pub in Charing Cross which Tony had suggested, Sara wondered why the mention of the boy’s name should have provoked such an immediate response. And the right response, too, judging by Tony Korda’s reaction. He had known she would respond to an appeal of that kind. But was Jeff Korda the real reason why he wanted to see her?

      She had not bothered to stop and change, but her black and white tweed suit, with its calf-length skirt and thigh-length jacket, was not out of place in the smoky atmosphere of the White Lion. Worn with a high-necked blouse and a man’s narrow tie, it successfully disguised her unusual beauty, the tight coil of hair at her nape merely adding to her severe image.

      Tony Korda was standing at the bar, but when he saw her, he picked up the two drinks he had ordered and urged her into the quieter surroundings of the lounge. ‘I’m afraid it’s only lager,’ he remarked, setting the two glasses down on a low table, and squatting on the stool opposite. ‘But I didn’t know what to order, and at least it’s long and cold.’

      ‘Lager’s fine,’ said Sara, who secretly hated the stuff. And then: ‘So—why have you brought me here? What’s wrong? You said it was something to do with your nephew.’

      ‘It is.’ Tony hunched his shoulders, looking even more world-weary than he had at the party. Casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were not being overheard, he went on: ‘Jeff took an overdose yesterday evening. They rushed him into the hospital in Miami, but for a while there it was touch and go.’

      Sara was horrified. ‘How terrible!’ She shook her head. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

      ‘So they say. He’s still in the hospital, of course—something to do with testing the toxicity of his blood. But he’ll be home in a day or so. I’m flying out there tomorrow to see how he is for myself.’

      Sara nodded. ‘It must have been a terrible shock!’

      ‘It was. When Link rang to tell me, I could have wrung his bloody neck!’

      She hesitated, not quite knowing what was required of her. Then, awkwardly, she put out her hand and squeezed his arm. ‘Thanks for feeling you could tell me,’ she murmured. ‘I appreciate your confidence.’

      ‘My confidence?’ Tony’s expression was suddenly even grimmer. ‘Is that why you think I rang? Just to share this confidence with you?’

      She moved a little nervously on her seat. ‘Didn’t you?’

      ‘No!’ He leant across the table towards her. ‘Sara, I rang because I thought you might be willing to help. You seemed—sympathetic when I spoke to you at Chris’s party. Or was that an act?’

      ‘No!’ She was indignant. ‘I just don’t see——’

      ‘I want you to consider a proposition I have to put to you,’ said Tony swiftly, and the sudden input from a juke-box in the bar made what he was saying almost inaudible. ‘I’ve spoken to Link, as I’ve said, and he’s agreeable. How does the idea of spending the winter months in Florida appeal to you?’

      ‘In Florida?’ Sara was sure she had heard him wrong, but Tony was nodding.

      ‘As a companion—a friend, if you like—for Jeff. You’d get a salary, of course. A more than generous one, I can guarantee that. And all expenses paid, naturally——’

      ‘Wait a minute!’ She held up a dazed hand. ‘Why would you think I can help your nephew? Surely a psychiatrist——’

      ‘He’s had psychiatrists,’ Tony interrupted her harshly. ‘And psychologists, and psycho-therapists, and goodness knows what else! That’s not what he needs.’ He paused, before continuing urgently: ‘Sara, what Jeff is missing is someone young, someone of his own generation, someone who understands what he’s going through. Someone like you.’

      Sara gulped. ‘You can’t compare my injury——’

      ‘I know that. But you’re the closet Jeff’s going to come to facing the truth about himself, to dealing with it.’

      ‘But I know nothing about nursing!’

      ‘I’ve told you—Jeff has had all the nurses and doctors he can cope with.’

      She was finding it difficult