Stay Through The Night. Anne Mather

Rosa quite envied Jameson for living here. It was peaceful in a way very few places were these days.

      Then, her mother answered. ‘Rosa? Rosa, is that you? Have you found Sophie? Is she all right?’

      ‘I haven’t found her.’ Rosa decided there was no point in prevaricating. ‘There isn’t a film crew on the island, Mum. Sophie must have been making it up.’

      ‘Oh, she wouldn’t do that.’ Mrs Chantry was so gullible where her younger daughter was concerned. ‘If she’s not there, then Mark must have made a mistake. Scotland’s a big place. They must be filming somewhere else.’

      ‘But where?’

      ‘I don’t know, do I? That’s for you to find out.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ Rosa was non-committal. ‘I may know more after I’ve spoken to Liam Jameson himself.’

      ‘You mean you haven’t spoken to him personally?’

      ‘How could I?’

      ‘Well, for heaven’s sake, Rosa, what have you been doing?’

      ‘Getting here,’ retorted Rosa indignantly. ‘It was a long journey, you know.’

      ‘So where are you now? Sitting in some bar in Mallaig, I suppose. And who told you there’s no film being made on the island?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I’m on the island at this moment. I’m at Kilfoil Castle. And I’m pretty sure that nothing’s going on here.’

      Her mother snorted. ‘So if Jameson’s not there—’

      ‘I didn’t say that,’ Rosa interrupted. ‘Haven’t I just said I’ll know more after I’ve spoken to him?’

      ‘So he’s not with the production?’

      If he ever was. ‘It would appear not,’ said Rosa trying to be patient. She heard the sound of someone opening the library door. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll ring you later. As soon as I have some news.’

      She rang off before Mrs Chantry could issue any more instructions. Then, getting up from the window seat, she turned to find Luther Killian standing just inside the door. He’d evidently changed. The crumpled shirt and jeans he’d worn to travel in had been replaced by a long-sleeved purple knit shirt and drawstring cotton trousers. Judging by the drops of water sparkling on his dark hair, he’d had a shower as well.

      Rosa knew her jaw had dropped, and she quickly rescued it. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, a little nonplussed. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

      Well, she’d thought he would have by now.

      Liam’s smile was guarded. ‘Is everything all right at home?’ he asked, guessing what had been going on. He pushed the tips of his fingers into the back pockets of his pants. ‘You look—surprised to see me.’

      ‘I am.’ Rosa didn’t think there was any point in lying about it. ‘Have you spoken to Liam Jameson? Has he agreed to see me?’

      ‘He has,’ said Liam drily, finding this harder than he’d expected. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rosa, but I’m Liam Jameson.’

      Rosa stared at him aghast. ‘You’re kidding!’

      ‘No.’ Liam pulled a face, and then, abandoning his awkward stance, he crossed to the desk and went to stand behind it. ‘I didn’t intend to deceive you. Not initially. It just worked out that way.’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘YOU’RE NOT SERIOUSLY going to allow her to stay here until she can get a ferry back to the mainland, are you?’ Sam Devlin was dismayed. ‘Man, you know nothing about this woman. How do you know this wasn’t just a ruse to get into the castle?’

      ‘I don’t.’ Liam finished the plate of bacon and eggs Mrs Wilson had cooked for him and reached for his steaming mug of coffee, sitting on the gleaming pine table beside him. He took a mouthful of the coffee, the third cup he’d had that morning, and sighed his satisfaction. ‘But, in answer to your first question, she’s leaving this morning. As soon as she can get her belongings packed.’

      ‘Well, that’s a mercy,’ said Sam briskly. ‘I could hardly believe it when Edith told me she was staying the night. Not but what the lassie seems honest enough. It’s just unlike you to invite a stranger into your home.’

      ‘I know.’ Liam could hear the edge in his voice, but he didn’t appreciate Sam telling him what he already knew. ‘Anyway, I doubt if you’d have wanted to drive her back to the village last night.’

      Sam sniffed. ‘You could always have called McAllister out. He gets little enough work as it is.’

      ‘Well, I didn’t,’ said Liam shortly. ‘And, for your information, I don’t think she has an ulterior motive for being here. For God’s sake, she didn’t know who I was until I told her.’

      ‘So you say.’

      ‘So I know.’

      ‘All right, all right.’ Sam backed down. ‘But I’m always suspicious when supposedly innocent strangers turn up out of the blue. I mean, who would be stupid enough as to believe you’d allow anyone to make a film on Kilfoil?’

      ‘Her teenage sister, perhaps?’

      ‘But you have nothing to do with film production.’

      ‘I told her that,’ said Liam mildly.

      ‘So why did you bring her here? Couldn’t you have convinced her you were telling the truth and sent her on her way?’

      ‘She wanted to come,’ said Liam flatly. ‘She insisted on speaking to Liam Jameson in person.’

      Sam shook his head. ‘This was when you were masquerading as Luther Killian?’

      ‘If you want to put it that way, yes.’

      Sam snorted. ‘Well, I don’t know what you were thinking of, Liam. For God’s sake, you’re not a teenager. You’re a middle-aged writer of horror fiction. You should have known better.’

      ‘Gee, it’s so good to know what you think of me,’ drawled Liam drily. ‘Why didn’t you add with more scars than Ben Nevis and a gammy leg into the bargain?’

      Sam’s gnarled cheeks had gained a little colour now. ‘Och, you know what I think of you, man. Surely there’s no need for me to mince my words.’ He paused, and when his employer didn’t say anything he continued fiercely, ‘If you were the type who played around with the lassies, Liam, it would be different. But you’re not. You never have been. Sure, I know you’ve had the odd fling now and then, but you’ve never brought your conquests home. Not since Kayla—’

      ‘Don’t go there, Sam.’

      Liam came to life now, and the older man hunched his shoulders at the reproof. It was years since he’d even thought about Kayla Stevens, thought Liam grimly. The woman he’d been intending to marry before the disastrous attack that had almost killed him.

      They’d met at a launch party his publisher had thrown for him when his first book had made number one on the bestseller lists. Kayla had been a struggling model, hired out by her agent for such occasions to add a little glamour to the mix. She’d seemed out of place there, too innocent to be forced to earn a living in that way. Liam had felt sorry for her—much as he’d done for Rosa Chantry, he thought now, scowling at the memory. But he’d eventually learned that Kayla had always had an eye to the main chance.

      Although she’d hung around the hospital for a while after the attack, the idea of getting hitched to a man who was badly scarred, who might be impotent or paralysed, and who would definitely need a lot of care and understanding to recover, hadn’t appealed to Kayla. Six months after returning Liam’s ring, she’d married a South American polo player with enough money to keep her in the style to which she’d