Where have you been? 5 страница

"That's it, miss. You interested in it?"

"I - well, yes, I suppose I am."

The manager shook his head regretfully. "You'll have seen that it's empty. But it's not for sale."

"No?"

"No. The chap who owns it, he's away, that's all. I did hear he'd gone into hospital -"

"Hospital'. " Helen spoke impulsively, and then forced herself to relax and smile at the man. "I mean - that's a pity. Was it something serious?"

The manager shrugged. "Can't rightly say, miss. We never did see much of them."

"Them?" probed Helen.

"Yes. This chap had a man living with him. Kind of batman, I suppose you'd call him. Name of Bolt. Used to come down to the village for supplies." He smiled. "Not that that's of any interest to you, miss."

"Oh - oh, but it is. Do go on."

The manager gave ha' a funny look. "You know this chap, maybe?" he suggested, and Helen was glad to bury her face in her coffee cup, shaking her head vigorously. "Well, anyway," went on her companion, "I expect they'll be coming back. Not much point in you hoping they'll be prepared to sell."

"No." Helen was wondering how she could phrase her next question. "It seems a pity the house is standing empty, though. I mean, I'd have thought this - what was it you said he was called? - Bolt? Well, I should have thought this man Bolt would have stayed at the house. To take care of things while his employer was in hospital, if they are coming back."

"Ah, yes. But as I hear it, they've gone to London. Perhaps this chap had to go into hospital there."

"London!"

Helen felt weak. To think she had driven all this way and Dominic was in some hospital in London! But why? What was wrong with him? She felt like climbing back into her car and driving straight back to town.

But of course she couldn't, and as the manager moved away to speak to the other occupant of the dining room, she rose and went up to her room. She would have an early night instead, and tomorrow she would leave first thing in the morning.

She slept better that night than she had done for weeks. She felt sure it was due to the exhausting journey, and the fact that she had drawn a blank. She felt utterly worn out. But next morning, she felt refreshed, and drove back to town with more enthusiasm than she had left. Fortunately, both her father and Isabel were out when she reached home, and she was glad to let Bessie make her an omelette before beginning the task of finding out which hospital Dominic might be in. She was determined not to think too much about the reasons that might have put him into hospital, but all the same as she rang hospital after hospital and drew a blank at all of them, the strain began to tell.

She was lying back wearily in her chair, her eyes aching from scanning telephone directories, when her father came in. She looked up tentatively, and saw that he was looking furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, kicking at one of the enormous directories she had left lying on the soft brown pile carpet.

Helen sighed. "Making telephone calls," she replied quietly.

"I can see that. Who are you ringing? "

"Does it matter? Can't I even make a telephone call now without asking you first?"

"Don't be impudent!" Her father thrust his bands into the pockets of his trousers. "Why did you drive to Hawksmere yesterday?"

Helen's mouth opened in surprise. "How do you know -oh, no! You didn't have me followed?"

"Why not? You've had a detective following you for the past three weeks," retorted her father laconically.

Helen's lips trembled. "I see."

Her father halted in front of her, looking down at her impatiently. "Are you going to tell me why you went to Hawksmere? Or shall I tell you?"

"You - know?"

"I think so." Her father breathed out heavily. "I think you went to see a man you thought was living at Ashbourn House. Dominic Lyall!"

Helen shaded her eyes with an unsteady hand "Oh, Daddy!" she exclaimed tremulously. "Why couldn't you just let well alone?"

'Helen, you're my daughter, my only offspring. Do you think I intend to sit back and allow you to ruin your life, the life I've got planned for you -"

"I'm twenty-two, Daddy -"

"What's that got to do with anything? You're still my daughter, and I have a right to know what you're doing."

"Daddy, you don't understand -"

"I understand perfectly. Now!" He flexed his shoulder muscles. "What did you hope to achieve by going to see Lyall? Is he the man you spent that week with?"

"Is there any point in denying it?"

"Not really. Barclay is very efficient."

"I suppose he was that nondescript little man in the restaurant last night,"

"Yes, I suppose you might call him that. Private detectives usually are - nondescript, I mean. They need to be. The job calls for it. It wouldn't do for people to start noticing them."

"No, I suppose not."

"So you didn't find him, then?"

"No."

"Not surprising really, considering he's here in London."

Helen blinked as an idea occurred to her. "Do you know where in London?"

"I might do."

Helen sat bolt upright. "Oh, Daddy, please! Where is he?"

Her father frowned. "Why should I tell you?"

"Oh, Daddy!"

"All right. I'll tell you - he's in a private clinic."

"How did you find out?"

"Barclay is a little more efficient than you, my dear. He asked at the post office for the forwarding address."

"Oh, God!" Helen clenched her fists frustratedly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"I doubt whether they'd have told you. But it's amazing how official a private detective's identity card can seem."

Helen shook her head. "I want to see him."

"I don't think that's a very good idea."

"You don't?" Helen got to her feet. "Daddy, I'll tell you this - if you don't tell me where he is, I'll walk out of this house now and you'll never see me again!"

"Helen!" Her father bit out the word. "Helen, for God's sake, stop behaving like a little fool! What does this man Lyall mean to you? What do you mean to him? How in God's name did you get to know him?"

"If I tell you, will you tell me where he is?"

Her father's nostrils drew in, "Very well. Providing you tell me the whole truth."

Helen hesitated, and then, sinking down on to the edge of her chair again, she slowly related the events which had led to her meeting with Dominic Lyall. She told of the blizzard, of her cat's breaking down, and the appalling conditions that led to her going with him to his house. She explained how his face had seemed familiar and how inevitably she had recognised him.

At this point her father interrupted her, saying: "You don't mean this man is - was Dominic Lyall, the racing driver?" He sounded staggered.

Helen faltered. "Well-yes. I thought you knew."

"Helen, Helen! It's not such an unusual name. I never dreamed..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Go on."

Helen went on, more enthusiastically now, sensing that her father's antagonism had somehow eased. Of course, he had been such a fan of Dominic Lyall. Was it possible that he still admired him?

Leaving out the intimate details of her relationship with Dominic, and yet hinting at what had happened, she finished her story, and only then did her father expel his breath in a long whistle.

"God!" he muttered. "What a situation!"

"Now do you understand why I couldn't tell you?"

"You could have trusted me."

"Could I?" Helen looked sceptical and Philip had the grace to look shamefaced.

"Well, maybe you have some reason to think otherwise," he admitted, shaking his head. "But, Helen, Dominic Lyall must be nearly forty!"

"I think he's thirty-eight," she conceded, nodding. "What does that matter?"

Her father shook his head again. "He's too old for you. And besides, you say he's crippled!"

"Oh, Daddy, don't use that word!" She licked her lips. "He has a limp. Do you think I care? If he had to spend his days in a wheelchair, I'd still love him!"

Philip left her to go and pour himself a drink, but when he raised his glass in a silent question, she shook her head.

"Not for me, thanks." She stood up again. "Now will you tell me where he is?"

"In a minute, in a minute." Her father swallowed half the whisky he had poured in a single gulp. "Do you know why he's in hospital?"

"No. Do you?"

"No. We haven't got that far in our investigations. For die moment I've told Barclay to call a halt."

"Thank God for that!"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Daddy, how do you think he's going to feel when he finds out you've been spying on him? He - he'll think I've told you."

"You have!"

"You know what I mean." Helen moved impatiently. "Daddy, are you going to tell me where he is?"

"Oh, very well." Her father pulled a card out of his inside pocket. "This is the clinic. It's run by a Doctor Jorge Johannsen. I know little about it except that he's reputed to be an expert orthopaedic surgeon."

"An orthopaedic surgeon! " Helen paled. "Oh, Daddy, do you think he's entered this clinic for an operation on his hip?"

"How should I know?" Her father shifted impatiently. "If you're determined to see him, I suggest you go round there and find out for yourself."

Helen nodded dazedly. "Yes. Yes, I'll do that." She hurried to the door. "Thank you, Daddy."

Philip hunched his shoulders irritably. "Don't thank me. I'm making no promises. But if seeing this man can put a bit of life back into you, I'm prepared to go along with that."

Helen hesitated a moment, wanting to say more, but then with a shake of her head she left him.

The Johannsen Clinic stood in Harley Street. It had once been a luxurious town house, but now its three upper floors and basement had been converted into an expensively equipped private hospital. Helen dismissed her taxi and climbed the steps to the door. Inside, a small lobby gave on to a reception area, and she pressed the button that indicated Attention on the desk.

She stood looking about her curiously, trying not to think of the reasons why she was there. Flowers gave the formality of the reception desk a touch of elegance, and their perfume dissipated any clinical odour. The hall which gave on to the staircase was carpeted in soft olive green, and the plain cream walls were hung with prints. It was really more like the reception hall of a hotel, and Helen tried to pretend its associations were just as innocent.

"Helen!”

The shocked ejaculation interrupted her thoughts and she swung round to find Bolt descending the last few stairs between them.

"Oh, Bolt!" she exclaimed, and her voice had a distinct tremor. "Bolt - is Dominic here?"

In a plain grey suit Bolt looked strangely formal and unfamiliar, but when he saw the anxiety in her face, his own features relaxed. "Yes," he replied quietly. "He's here."

Helen went towards him, looking up at him imploringly. "How is he? Why is he here? Bolt, did -did carrying me do this?"

Bolt glanced round. "Has anyone attended to you?"

"No. There was no one about. I rang the bell, but no one has come."

He glanced at his watch. "It's teatime. The patients are served tea at five o'clock. I expect everyone's busy." He nodded towards a room marked "Visitors". "We'll go in here. There's not likely to be anyone waiting about at this time of day."

It was true. The comfortable lounge was empty. Bolt closed the door and then when Helen refused to do as he suggested and sit down, he said: "What are you doing here?"

Helen sighed. "I want to see Dominic."

"How did you know he was here?"

"It's a long story. Bolt, please, won't you get to the point? Why is Dominic here?"

Bolt thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets. "He decided to have the operation they wanted him to have after the accident," he stated heavily.

"You mean - you mean he agreed to have an artificial piece of bone grafted into his hip!" Helen was staggered.

"Something like that."

"Oh, Bolt!" Helen pressed her palms to her cheeks. "And when - when does he have the operation?"

"He had it two weeks ago."

"Two weeks?" Helen couldn't take it in. "But that was -that was-"

"- Just after you left, yes."

Helen stared at him confusedly. "Why did he suddenly decide to have the operation?"

Bolt looked down at the polished toes of his shoes. "I really don't know."

Helen caught his arm. "I don't believe you," she exclaimed tremulously. "Dominic would be bound to discuss it with you!"

"And is it any concern of yours?" asked Bolt quietly.

Helen's eyes were unusually bright "I think so. I - I love him."

Bolt shook his head. "Do you?"

"Yes. Yes!" Helen spread her hands. "All right, all right, if you won't tell me why he did it, at least tell me if it's a success."

Bolt hesitated. "If I do, you must promise not to tell him what I've said."

"Of course." A little worried frown had appeared on Helen's wide brow. From the tone of his voice, she already knew the answer.

"Then - no," he admitted reluctantly. "They couldn't do it."

Helen's shoulders sagged. "Do you know why?"

"I don't know all the medical jargon, but basically it seems that if a bone is allowed to heal without repair it becomes a potential source of deformity to other joints. In this case the lapse of time between the injury and its treatment had led to a more difficult condition."

"Oh, Bolt!" Helen felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for the man she loved. "Oh, where is he? I must see him!"

Bolt sighed. "I don't know whether he'll agree to see you, Helen."

"Why not?"

"I think you know why not."

Helen walked to the door. "I'm going to see him," she said clearly, even though her voice still shook. "And no one's going to stop me."

When she emerged into the hall again with Bolt behind her, the receptionist was at her desk. She looked at Helen in surprise and Bolt went ahead of her, saying: "This is a - friend of Mr. Lyall's. Is it possible for her to see him now?"

Helen felt an immense amount of gratitude towards Bolt for his intervention. His introduction made her presence there so much less difficult to explain, and the receptionist smiled and nodded and said she was sure it would be all right. She sent for a nurse to escort the visitor to Dominic's room and Bolt gave Helen a reassuring pat on the shoulder before she and the nurse entered the cage-like lift which transported them to the second floor. Here the corridor was rubber-tiled, silent and efficient, and there was a distinctly clinical atmosphere which had not been evident downstairs. Dominic's room was at the end of this corridor, and the young nurse opened his door and said brightly: "You've gota visitor, Mr. Lyall. Come in, Miss James."

Helen entered with some misgivings, half prepared for Dominic to order her away. But although he did not smile, he said nothing to embarrass her until the nurse had left them alone. He was sitting up in the narrow bed wearing dark red silk pyjamas, and Helen could not drag her eyes away from him. It seemed so much longer than three weeks since she had seen him and she was hungry for the sight of him. She scarcely noticed the pleasant room with its pale blue carpet, and deeper blue bedspread and curtains, so much more attractive than any ordinary hospital room, and when the nurse closed the door she started violently at the harshness in his voice.

"How the hell did you find me here?" he demanded.

She drew an unsteady breath. "Hello, Dominic," she murmured. "How-how are you?"

His lean face mirrored his irritation and her heart sank. "Did Bolt send for you?"

"No. No, of course not." She approached the bed, longing to touch the brown hand lying against the coverlet. The neck of his pyjama jacket was open and she could see the hair at the base of his throat. It was a devastating thought that he had held her in his arms, close against the hard strength of his body, and she longed for him to hold her again. "Dominic, I went to Hawksmere, and - and I found out that you'd come to London."

"Why did you go to Hawksmere?"

For a moment curiosity got the better of anger, and she answered eagerly t "I wanted to see you again -"

His lips twisted. "Really? Why?"

"Dominic, you know why -" Her voice broke and she reached for his fingers urgently, but he drew his hand away.

"I think you've made a mistake.," he stated coldly. "I thought I made the position clear enough several weeks ago. You and I have nothing more to say to one another."

Helen caught her breath. "I don't believe that -"

"It makes no difference to me what you believe." A frown drew his brows together. "How did you find this hospital? I told no one." His lips curled. "Except Bolt!"

"It - wasn't - Bolt." Helen spoke with difficulty. "If -if you must know, my father had me followed. He - he's had me followed ever since I got back."

"What do you mean - followed?"

"What do you think I mean?" Her voice cracked on a sob. "He had a private detective trailing me. I told you what he was like. He - he tried to force me to tell him where I'd been when I got back."

"Why didn't you simply tell him you'd been staying at a hotel?"

"I did. But - but the hotel I mentioned, he'd had checked out. After that -" She made a helpless gesture.

Dominic's hands clenched into fists. "And I suppose it was this detective who found the clinic."

"Yes." Helen sighed. "But - but Daddy didn't really know who you are. Not until - not until I told him."

"You told him?" Dominic's eyes were narrowed to tawny slits.

"Yes. I had to." She shook her head. "He wouldn't tell me where you were until - until -"

Dominic glared unseeingly towards the windows. "Are you sure you're telling me the whole truth?" he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, are you sun; it wasn't this detective who made the trip to Hawksmere? Who found out I was in hospital? Who put two and two together?"

Helen was confused. "I don't understand -"

His eyes turned back to her. "I think you do. Didn't you discover that I was in hospital for the operation to repair my hip?"

"I-well-yes-"

"I thought as much. And did you think I'd done it for you?"

"No, I-how could I?"

But she had. Vaguely such an idea had occurred to her after what Bolt had told her, and it was evident in her face.

"Who have you spoken to since you came here?" he demanded.

"Why, no-no one."

"Good. I don't want you discussing my condition with anyone, do you understand? My affairs are no concern of yours. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but when I get out of here I have do intention of using my new-found freedom to seek you out."

"Your - new-found - freedom?"

"Of course. You don't know, do you? The operation was a complete success. I should be as good as new in a couple of months. What a pity you won't be around to share in the celebrations, but I'll send you a card from Florida or Jamaica or wherever else the fancy takes me!"

Helen was frozen to the spot. What was he saying? That the operation had succeeded in righting his hip? That he would not be limping when he left the hospital? But Bolt had said that it had failed, that the deformity was such that it could not be cured!

She felt sick. One of them was lying - but which? And did it matter anyway? Dominic didn't want her, he had made that perfectly clear, so why delay the inevitable? She had to get out of there - the sooner the better.

She half turned towards the door. It seemed a long distance away, but she could make it. She had to. She would not break down in front of him. That would be the final straw.

She moved unsteadily across the pale blue carpet, and when her hand reached the handle he said: "Don't worry about your father learning of my existence. I'm sure when you tell him what has happened he'll be only too willing to keep the information to himself."

Helen cast one last look over her 'shoulder. There were lines of strain beside his mouth and now as she looked at him with despairing eyes she saw how much thinner he had become. Oh, God, she thought desperately, why did she care so much? Let him go on and live his life the way he chose. She would not think about him any more.

CHAPTER TEN

To her relief Bolt was not around when she left the building. Almost in a daze, she summoned a taxi and gave the address of net father's house, but halfway there she changed the destination to the Embankment. She knew the taxi driver looked at her strangely as she paid him off near Westminster Bridge, and she thought rather hysterically that he had the suspicion that she was about to do away with herself.

And the temptation was there as she looked down into the murky waters. She had never felt so low, and the knowledge that her father would be waiting for her at home, waiting for an explanation, filled her with depression. She didn't want to talk about the scene she had just had with Dominic, but she didn't see how she could avoid it.

The rush hour traffic of early evening passed her by as she wandered along, eventually going into a cafe and ordering herself some tea. It was almost seven o'clock before she made her way home and when the taxi stopped at the door her father came leaping down the steps to help her out.

"Oh, thank God!" he muttered, taking her arm and drawing her up the steps to the house. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Helen's mouth twitched at this. Her father seemed invincible somehow. "I'm sorry it you've been worried about me," she began, but he interrupted her.

"Worried about you?" he snapped. "Helen, do you realise you left the clinic over an hour and a half ago!"

"You rang, I suppose," she said wearily.

"Rang? Of course I rang. Where have you been?"

"I went for a walk - along the Embankment."

"The Embankment!'" Her father paled slightly. "My God, Helen, you weren't - you weren't thinking of -"

"I did think of it, yes," she admitted quietly. "Oh, Daddy, I'm so miserable!"

And she burst into tears.

Some three hours later there was a ring at the bell of the James' house in Barbary Square. Helen was in bed, but not sleeping, even though the tablets her father had given her before leaving to take Isabel to a formal dinner at the Guildhall should have helped her to do so.

Since her return home that evening she had had to revise her opinion of her father somewhat. He had been so kind, so gentle, so understanding - and she realised that when it came right down to it he was just as concerned for her happiness as any other father might be.

Now she sat up in bed as the bell rang again and looked at her watch. It was almost ten-thirty. Who could be calling at this hour? Unless her father and stepmother had had an accident...

She slid out of bed, pulling on a pale green chiffon robe over her matching nightdress. It was nearest thing to hand and she dared not delay any longer. Bessie was not in, she was alone in the house, and the idea that it might be a thief or an intruder of some sort hardly occurred to her.

She ran lightly down the stairs, crossed the hall and opened the door to the width of the safety chain. Then, she gasped. Dominic was on the threshold - leaning heavily on a stick.

"Hello, Helen," he said, and the lines of strain she had seen earlier were etched more deeply beside his mouth. "May l come in? I'd like to talk to you."

Helen licked her lips and pressing the door closed for a moment released the chain. Then she stood back, concealing herself behind the door as he limped in. It was only then that she became aware of the scarcity of her attire and with a swiftly-drawn breath, she exclaimed: "I'll just go and put on some clothes -"

"No!" His hand reached out and caught her wrist as she would have passed him. His eyes surveyed her with disturbing appraisal. "No, don't go. I like you the way you are."

Helen's cheeks flamed. "Dominic -"

"Is there somewhere where we can talk?" He winced as a spasm of pain seemed to catch him unawares. "Could I -sit down?"

"Of course, of course. Do you want to lean on me?"

Her eyes were wide and concerned, but he shook his head, his expression a trifle wry. "I don't think that's necessary," he replied, but she saw that he leaned more heavily on the stick as she led the way into the lounge.

She switched on the lamps, and then hovered uncertainly by the door as he limped to the wide velvet-covered couch and lowered himself with evident relief into its soft cushions. Then he turned to look at her and embarrassment took over again.

"I - must go and put something else on," she insisted, and he shrugged his broad shoulders.

"All right. If it pleases you to be modest. But I do have a pretty good idea of what a woman's body looks like."

Helen stared at him, her appearance forgotten. "Why -why have you come here?" she asked unevenly.

He lay bade against the cushions, his lean face bearing a faint mockery now that the strain of walking had been taken from him. She thought, half despairingly, that she would never grow tired of looking at him - at his dark features, the silvery swathe of hair that persisted in falling across his forehead, the sensual curve of his mouth

"Come here and I'll tell you," he said, and there was no mockery there now.

Helen took a couple of tentative steps and then halted. What was she doing? What was he doing? Why had he come here? Was this another way he had conceived of hurting her?

"Dominic -" she began again, and he leant forward impatiently and caught her wrist, jerking her down on top of him. She felt the hardness of his thighs beneath hers, the roughness of his hands against her flesh, and then his mouth was on hers and he was bearing her down against the soft velvet cushions with an urgency that brooked no denial. The weight of ibis body on hers was not a pain, it was a sensual pleasure, and her lips parted involuntarily while her whole body yielded to the throbbing pressure of his.

It was a long time before he let her go and when he did his eyes were still glazed with the intensity of his emotions. He forced himself up and looked down at her with slightly impatient eyes as he said: "Not here, Helen. Not like this. Do you want me to be making love to you when your father gets home?"

Helen stirred lethargically. "I don't mind," she murmured, stretching up a hand to touch, his cheek. "Oh, Dominic, I love you..."

Dominic caught her hand and pressed his lips to the palm. "Helen, are you sure you know what you're saying?"

She nodded, but then something he had said caused her to blink rapidly and prop herself up on her elbows. "Dominic, did - did my father ask you to come here?"

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