Gypsy. Кэрол Мортимер

feeling a ripple of apprehension down the straightness of her spine. Lyon was displeased with his brother for asking the question, and she had a feeling she was the reason for his annoyance with Matthew.

      ‘Yes,’ he replied tersely, dismissively. ‘What happened to your arm, Matthew?’

      The younger man shrugged. ‘The controls of this stupid machine went haywire for a while and I hit the ground,’ he told them with self-derision. ‘It’s nothing serious, just a sprain.’

      ‘You didn’t mention it when I telephoned yesterday,’ Lyon scowled.

      ‘I said it’s only a sprain,’ Matthew bit out tautly. ‘I’m in a wheelchair, Lyon, not senile! I don’t need you fussing over me like an old woman every time I accidently cut myself shaving!’ He looked at the older man challengingly.

      Who would eventually have won the silent battle of wills Shay wasn’t sure; Lyon was obviously the stronger-willed of the two, but Matthew had his pride on his side. Even feeling the interloper, as she did, she couldn’t let the senseless battle go on.

      ‘Could I have a cup of tea, do you think?’ She cut across their tension. ‘I’m feeling a little weary.’ Her eyes hardened as she looked at Lyon. ‘I think you might be better having coffee,’ she told him with sarcasm. ‘A whole pot of it!’ she added before strolling through to what she knew was the main family lounge, the décor different from what she remembered, in green and cream now, but otherwise the room was just as elegantly comfortable as she remembered it.

      Matthew was still chuckling as he followed her into her room. ‘Been drinking, has he?’ he mused.

      ‘Just a little,’ Shay drawled.

      ‘You always did have a strange effect on my big brother.’ He grinned his satisfaction with the fact.

      ‘I don’t care to be discussed as if I weren’t present.’ Lyon strode across the room to pour himself a glass of whisky from the cut-glass decanter.

      ‘Oh, we know you’re here,’ Matthew taunted. ‘But what about Neil?’

      Lyon’s mouth compressed into a thin line as he turned and rang for the maid. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow,’ he supplied abruptly, turning to the young woman who entered the room so that he could order Shay’s tea.

      Once again Shay had sensed Lyon’s reluctance to discuss Neil in front of her. ‘Is Neil away?’ she probed softly.

      Matthew gave Lyon a censorious look. ‘You haven’t told her?’

      ‘Obviously not,’ he drawled. ‘For God’s sake, Matthew,’ he scowled belligerently. ‘It isn’t the sort of thing you just blurt out in the middle of a flight that Shay was already finding such a strain!’

      ‘Hell, Lyon, you’ve been in Los Angeles almost three weeks,’ Matthew criticised.

      ‘During which Shay flatly refused to see me,’ Lyon rasped harshly.

      Shay felt no regret for that decision, had no desire to spend any more time in his company than she needed to. ‘Where is Neil?’ she asked tautly. ‘Has he been hurt in some way? God, he isn’t dead too …?’ She gasped as that horrific thought occurred to her.

      ‘No, of course he isn’t dead,’ Lyon snapped. ‘Your fertile imagination is running riot!’

      ‘Then why won’t you tell me where he is?’ she demanded impatiently. ‘Why all the secrecy?’

      ‘Because he’s in Los Angeles,’ Lyon muttered.

      ‘Los Angeles …? But—’ She broke off, a cold stillness slowly creeping over her, her hands clenching at her sides, the long lacquerless nails digging into her palms. She didn’t feel any pain from the wounds she was inflicting, knew another pain that far superseded it. ‘He’s running the Los Angeles office, isn’t he.’ It was a statement, not a question, the deep purple of her eyes her only show of emotion now.

      ‘Shay—’

      ‘Isn’t he?’ she directed the question at Lyon, ignoring Matthew’s attempt to reason with her. ‘Answer me, damn you!’

      Tawny eyes darkened furiously at her dictatorial tone. ‘Yes, he is—’

      ‘You bastard!’ Her hand unclenched long enough to move up and slap him hard across one arrogant cheek, the white fingermarks she left livid against his tanned flesh as he remained immobile after the attack.

      ‘Shay!’

      ‘You replaced Ricky with him,’ she accused disgustedly, once again ignoring Matthew. ‘One brother is dead, never mind, I have two more I can send in his place!’ she said heatedly, bright spots of colour in her otherwise pale cheeks.

      ‘Shay—’

      ‘Excuse me,’ she at last acknowledged Matthew’s efforts to speak to her, ‘I have to get out of here before I’m sick all over the Persian rug!’ She swallowed convulsively, breathing deeply in an effort to hold in the nausea. ‘I take it I’ve been given the suite I once shared with Ricky?’ Her eyes flashed warningly at Matthew.

      ‘It’s always kept prepared in case you or Ricky came home for a visit,’ he frowned. ‘But I thought this time you might prefer—’

      ‘I prefer the suite I shared with Ricky,’ she told Matthew forcefully. ‘It’s one of the rare places in this house that holds no bad memories for me!’ She hurried from the room, her head held high.

      ‘LET HER GO,’ Lyon instructed his brother as he would have followed her, his lips barely moving as he stood rigidly still, shifting suddenly, throwing the contents of the glass to the back of his throat before refilling it, welcoming the burning sensation as the alcohol hit his empty stomach.

      ‘Haven’t you had enough of that for one day?’ Matthew watched him concernedly.

      ‘Not nearly enough.’ Lyon grimly drank the second glass straight down too.

      ‘Getting drunk isn’t going to help the situation,’ his brother spoke soothingly, his hazel eyes troubled. ‘And it’s going to give you one hell of a headache in the morning!’ he added derisively.

      Lyon scowled. ‘I’ll worry about that then,’ he bit out.

      ‘Worry about it now, Lyon, and tell me what happened on the flight here; Shay was as taut as a violin string when she arrived.’ Matthew shook his head.

      ‘Nothing happened.’ Lyon achingly recalled the hours he had sat feet away from Shay, only a thin door separating them physically; mentally it might as well have still been the Atlantic!

      ‘Nothing?’

      ‘No,’ he confirmed abruptly. ‘We barely talked to each other.’

      ‘Then why was she—like that?’ Matthew looked puzzled.

      ‘Doesn’t she have the right?’ Lyon groaned. ‘I have sent Neil to Los Angeles to replace Ricky—’

      ‘What else could you do?’ Matthew said impatiently. ‘Shay is going to realise, once she calms down, that you had to send someone in his place to run the Los Angeles office.’

      Lyon stared up the stairs Shay had so recently ascended, the scent of her elusive perfume still in the air. ‘Someone, yes,’ he acknowledged bitterly. ‘But it didn’t have to be another Falconer.’

      ‘You make us sound like something contagious,’ Matthew derided dryly.

      ‘I think to Shay we are,’ Lyon nodded, wondering if he would ever be able to shut out the agony of knowing Shay considered him to be the lowest creature on earth. It was there in her voice every time she spoke to him, in every glance she gave, and there was nothing, nothing, he could ever do to vindicate himself in her eyes. ‘All except Ricky, of course,’ he acknowledged tightly.

      Ricky was dead,