Authors: Penny Jordan
'Yes… yes, I'm listening. How long?'
'Twenty-four hours at most… That's all. We'll
fly out to the coast today, and pick up a flight to London—'
'You're both coming?' Sage interrupted him, suddenly
finding her voice.
There was a small pause, and then his voice roughened,
deepened as he confirmed huskily, 'We'll both be there.'
And suddenly, achingly, Sage realised that here was a man
who had loved her mother very much indeed, who perhaps, despite the way
they had parted, did still love her. Perhaps, she reflected wryly, she
was far more her father's child than she had ever realised in the days
when she had believed Edward to be her father.
As though Lewis McLaren too was aware of the emotion of
the moment he said softly, 'Don't worry, Sage. We'll be there in time.
You just make sure they don't operate for another twenty-four hours. I
want to see this surgeon. I want to make sure your mother's in the best
possible hands…'
The old Sage, the old Sage she had been before she had set
out on her journey through her mother's past, would have objected to
his high-handedness… to his assumption that she and Faye
were not capable of ensuring that her mother receive the best possible
medical attention, but now she had discovered within herself her
mother's gift of looking beneath the surface, of seeking the truth
behind people's reactions, and she sensed clearly that Lewis McLaren
was shocked, concerned—she could almost feel his desperation,
his need to be with her mother, and so she simply said pacifyingly,
'I'll speak to the surgeon, but I doubt that he'll be very pleased.'
She paused and then was unable to stop herself asking in a
low voice, 'Scott… Is he… is he happy?'
There was a small pause and then her father responded
roughly, 'Yes, yes, he's very happy. Married with two fine boys, but I
had to tell him the truth first. Had to explain to him just why it was
impossible for you and him.'
'Yes, I…'
'I'm sorry… but your mother and I, well,
we… with Edward… we had to do what was best for
both of you.'
He paused and then said, 'As soon as we get to London I'll
ring you. Where will you be?'
'Here, most probably, at the house.' She gave him the
number.
She was just about to replace the receiver when he said
urgently, 'I've never stopped loving her, you know. There hasn't been a
day since she sent me away when I haven't thought about her. Or about
you. I wanted you all… but she couldn't leave him, wouldn't
leave him. He was more important than me.'
'You're wrong,' Sage told him huskily. 'It wasn't like
that. She… She felt she had a duty…that she owed
Edward—'
'Owed him what? The rest of her life…our
happiness… my children?'
She could hear the bitterness in the words, the loss, and
her throat closed up. Oh, yes, she was her father's
daughter… and how her mother must have recognised that and
been hurt by it, over and over again through the years.
When she replaced the receiver tears were pouring down her
face. Wordlessly Faye held out her arms to her and she went into them.
Camilla too came and placed her arms around them and they
stayed like that in silent female communion for several minutes.
It was Sage who broke away first, saying, 'We'll have to
get in touch with the hospital… delay the
operation… I think we'll have to explain the reason why.
Would you do that, Faye? I don't think…'
'Yes… yes, I will. Look, why don't you go
upstairs and lie down for an hour? You've had a shock.'
'No… no. I'll stay here… keep myself
occupied answering some of the letters that keep arriving. I knew that
Mother had a wide field of acquaintances, but I can't get over how many
people she knows.'
'She's very popular, very well loved…'
Faye agreed.
'Mmm… I wonder if she ever allowed herself to
think of what she gave up when she refused to go with my father.'
'Being Liz, I expect she did… No woman could
not do so, could she?'
'Not really,' Sage agreed. 'Not really.'
As Faye had anticipated, Alaric Ferguson was at first
incredulously disbelieving and then furiously angry when she calmly
announced that they wanted Liz's operation to be delayed for
twenty-four hours.
What she hadn't anticipated was how amused she was, and
even in some delicate feminine way aroused, by her own realisation that
part of the reason he was so annoyed was because he could not quite
detach himself from his own awareness of her which in turn heightened
both his irritation and reaction.
Eventually she relented and explained the situation to
him. Reluctantly he accepted that under the circum-stances the
operation could be delayed, but Faye sensed that he had disliked her
putting him at a disadvantage.
As she replaced the receiver she realised with a small
sense of shock that for the first time in her life she was tasting the
kind of sexual power that most of her sex took as a matter of course.
Sage had said that Alaric Ferguson was attracted to her,
and she realised that she was curious enough about him to be flattered
by that thought.
Daniel frowned as he looked at his silent telephone. The
call he had been waiting for had still not come through and he had been
hoping that it would before he had to speak to Sage and respond to her
ultimatum. In fact that was why he had delayed her original deadline.
He marvelled a little at himself that he was foolish
enough to believe that giving her the news would influence her attitude
towards him—soften her antagonism, make it easier for them to
communicate, to… To what? Become lovers… But it
wasn't just her body in his bed that he wanted. Had that been the
case…
Admit it, he derided himself, you're practically obsessed
with the woman and you always have been right from the start. You don't
just want her, you
love
her…
The telephone rang and he reached for the receiver. It was
the call he had been waiting for. As he replaced the receiver he
thought that Helen had been worth cultivating, even though at times he
had found annoying her possessiveness, her unsubtle determination to
turn what was really little more than a business acquaintanceship into
something much more personal.
At times he had felt quite sorry for her. She was an
attractive woman with a good career, but she was one of those women who
thought that her looks and her sexuality entitled her to preferential
treatment in life.
She was looking for a rich husband, or a rich lover, and
her way of going about her hunting repelled him. He couldn't help
contrasting her attitude with Sage's. Sage who was so independent, so
proud, so reserved…or who had been until she had broken down
in front of him and told him…
He felt his stomach muscles tense as awareness wrenched
through him. He had been a fool not to take advantage of that weakness.
Not to… Not to. what… fling her to the floor and
possess her? That wasn't the way he wanted it to be between them. He
wanted her… of course he did, but he wanted more than her
sexual compliance… her reluctant and angry admission that
she desired him. He didn't want to master her, to dominate her, to use
her own need against her, he didn't want to subjugate her in any way at
all. He wanted her to come to him freely, proudly, lovingly. He wanted
the moon, he told himself wryly. He was never going to get her to hand
her heart to him on a plate, but he couldn't prevent his mind from
dreaming.
As he drove towards Cottingdean he wondered how Sage would
react to his news. She wouldn't be expecting to see him as his extended
deadline was not yet up and she would probably anticipate that he would
telephone. She would already be tense; even more so because of her
mother's serious condition. He made a silent prayer that all would be
well. He liked and admired Liz Danvers. Had found her a charming and
sincere woman and had marvelled a little that she should have produced
this volatile, quicksilver Sage.
The drive took longer than he had expected. When he
reached the house it was quiet, although lights seemed to blaze from
every one of its windows. He wondered if perhaps Liz Danvers…
His body tensed as he looked up towards the upper storey.
He wondered which window was Sage's… He even wondered how
she had furnished that room, and then laughed at himself for acting
like a boy daydreaming over some unreachable idol. He parked his car
and got out.
When he rang the doorbell, the door was answered by Faye.
He asked for Sage and Faye frowned at him. Sage was still in her
mother's study—the last time Faye had looked in on her, she
had been curled up in a chair like a small child, fast asleep, and Faye
hadn't the heart to wake her.
She had taken Sage's advice and talked with Camilla about
her own past. Her daughter's reaction, her shock and her anger, her
immediate love and warmth… her maturity and compassion had
taught Faye a great deal about her daughter and even more about
herself. This child she had given birth to, had loved and protected,
was now almost an adult. She realised that she had tended to forget at
times that Camilla was David's daughter as well as her own; that she
had inherited in full measure her father's wonderful clear-sighted
vision, his compassion, his depth of understanding.
'I'm afraid Sage isn't seeing anyone at the moment,' she
told their visitor, but he ignored her, firmly stepping past her so
that she had no option but to let him in and close the door behind him.
'She'll see me,' Daniel assured her. 'She's expecting
me…'
Was she? Sage had said nothing to her. Faye glanced
helplessly and betrayingly towards the study door, and Daniel took
advantage of her hesitation to walk towards the door, saying coolly,
'She's in here, is she? Don't worry, I'll announce myself…'
'You can't go in there…' Faye started to
protest, but it was already too late. He was opening the door and going
inside.
Sage was lying curled up in one of the chairs, one hand
under her face. She had been crying and he could see the oddly touching
traces of mascara on her skin. She looked like a child, he reflected,
watching her, but she wasn't a child, and just the sight of her made
his heart contract and his body go weak.
The room was half in shadow, illuminated by the fire and a
single lamp on the desk behind her.
As he walked towards her he saw some photographs lying on
her lap. Some of them had spilled down on to the floor and he bent
automatically to pick them up, tensing when he recognised Scott's
youthful features smiling back at him.
A mixture of pain, anger, and resentment churned through
his stomach. He had a momentary impulse to pick up the photographs and
hurl them into the fire. Was it never going to end… was she
never going to forget, to stop looking into the past and face the
future? He was jealous, he recognised. Jealous of Scott. Jealous of her
love for him. So searingly jealous in fact that he wanted to destroy if
not the man then at least his celluloid image.
As he bent over her she moved and frowned, her eyes slowly
flickering open. For a moment she looked at him without pretence or
defences, and what he read in them made him ache to reach out to her,
to take hold of her, but already her expression was changing, becoming
distant… veiled…antagonistic. She swung her feet
to the floor and tried to stand up, but he was standing in her way.
'Daniel!' she demanded huskily. 'What are you doing here?
Who let you in?'
'I came in answer to your ultimatum,' he told her curtly.
'Remember it? Or were you too busy wallowing in self-pity reliving the
past? My God, Sage… What's
wrong
with
you? You're an adult woman, not a girl. You…'
Muddled with sleep and emotion, it was several seconds
before Sage realised what he meant. He had picked up her photographs
and now he threw them down on the desk in a gesture of disgust.
Impulsively she caught hold of his sleeve so that he turned to face her.
'Daniel, you don't understand… Scott
is—'
'Oh, I understand all right,' he interrupted her roughly.
'I understand… And to think…'
His face grew bitter… hard… his
expression chilling her.
'There was a time when I thought that you and I could have
a future together, that maybe… just maybe you'd come to your
senses and realise… You want me and I certainly damn well
want you… and I promise you this, in
my
bed you'd have found a hell of a lot more pleasure than any other man
has ever shown you…'
He stopped and cursed himself under his breath as he saw
her expression—he was going about this in completely the
wrong way. He knew her well enough to realise how she was going to
react to that kind of announcement and he couldn't really blame her,
but he had been so shocked, so angry, so bitterly hurt to discover her
crying over Scott—it had been like a blow delivered right
against his heart. He
knew
that he could never
endure wondering how often she was thinking about Scott, how often she
was wanting him, aching for him, even though he also knew that if only
she would admit it the emotions they generated for one another between
them were far more powerful than anything she had ever felt for Scott
McLaren. But she wouldn't admit it, and suddenly the thought of forcing
her to do so was like a bad taste in his mouth.
Groggy with sleep, Sage stared at him. He was
jealous… jealous of Scott, she recognised, with a surge of
emotion so intense and so betraying that she almost reached out to him
and took hold of him. Just in time she stopped herself and said
instead, 'Daniel, you don't understand—'
'Like hell,' he interrupted her furiously. 'I understand
well enough—and to think I came here tonight hoping,
wanting… Well, I might as well tell you, since that's why
I'm here… You're off the hook, Sage, your precious village
is safe… they've rerouted the road.'