Melting Ms Frost (37 page)

‘You were there?’ Annabel said, surprised. ‘I remember the intercom buzzing and hoping it was you. But how did you get in?’

He remembered sliding to a stop at the entrance and frantically trying to work out how he was going to get past the security doors. ‘The only thing I could think of doing was pushing as many buttons to as many flats as I could in the hope that someone would let me in. Luckily someone did. I heard your screams, followed them. Somehow the handle of your case had become wedged in the door, stopping it from locking shut by an inch.’

‘I dropped it, I think. In shock at seeing all the mess.’ Annabel said slowly as she pieced the fragments of her memory back together.

‘Thank God you did. I burst in and found …’

His voice stalled, his throat too tight to speak as the image of Annabel sprawled on the ground, trying to fight off the much larger bulk of her half-crazed attacker came back with sickening clarity. Tony had been threatening to kill her, one meaty hand clamped around her throat, the other raising a gin bottle, ready to smash it down onto her face.

‘I dragged the bastard off you and fought to subdue him.’ And what a fight that had been. Tony Maplin was not only solidly built, he was also being powered by a wild, alcohol-fuelled rage. By the time Aidan had knocked him out and had rushed to check on Annabel, she’d been too far gone in fear and pain to recognise him or respond to him calling her name. Horrified, he’d frozen when she’d shrunk back from him, sobbing, realising that she thought he was Tony, back to finish what he’d started, back to make good on his threat.

‘You passed out shortly before the police arrived. You don’t remember the paramedics treating you? The ambulance ride?’

The frown deepened on her brow. ‘Snatches only.’

In the circumstances, he thought ‘snatches’ were probably the best thing for her.

She reached her good hand out and touched his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her chin wobbling and her eyes filling up.

Carefully he leaned over and placed a light kiss on her forehead. ‘I only wish I could have got there sooner.’

He remained silent for a while as Annabel pressed her lips together, making an obvious effort to get her emotions under control.

‘You don’t need to stay,’ she said eventually. ‘You’ve done more than enough already.’

He suggested that he wait with her at least until the porter arrived to wheel her to see her mother. When she didn’t argue, he also broached the subject of her going home.

‘Even if they release you on your own tomorrow, you know you’re in no condition to face the state your place is in, don’t you?’ He could see by her expression that she hadn’t even thought of it.

‘Oh, God. My flat. All my things.’

‘I know. Is there someone I can call? Family you can stay with while it gets sorted out?’

‘No.’

‘
None?
’

‘No.’ She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. ‘I’m an only child. So is Mum – to quite elderly parents who are so long gone I can barely remember them. My father’s parents and sister emigrated to Canada years ago, before he died.’

It was hard for him to imagine being so alone when he’d had such a full, often maddening, family life, surrounded from childhood by a comforting circle of people to call on, lean on – people to help and care for.

‘Friends?’

‘Not an awful lot of those either. None in London that I could ask something like this.’ Even though she said it matter-of-factly he found the statement incredibly saddening, and the desire to help her grew even stronger.

‘You have me,’ he said, unsure which of them would be more astonished by the next words to come out of his mouth. ‘You can come and stay at my place.’

Aidan carried the grocery bags up to his flat and let himself in quietly so as not to disturb his sleeping patient. Considering the way she’d reacted to his invitation at the hospital yesterday it was a miracle she was even here. Needless to say, her astonishment had been the far greater initially, but he’d been left somewhat surprised by the force of his subsequent determination to turn her flat refusal into reluctant acceptance.

She’d caved eventually, but only because she didn’t have the strength to keep resisting him, he reckoned. Had he felt bad about taking advantage of her weakened state? Perhaps – until he’d swung by her place this morning to pick up a few items before collecting her from the hospital to bring her home. Having seen the mess, such a brutal reminder of the violence that had happened there, he’d felt no question that he’d done the right thing.

After getting her settled in, he’d realised that the only thing he hadn’t had time to do was pick up something for them to eat. She’d been out cold when he’d gone in to check on her prior to nipping out. Wearing one of his white T-shirts – the easiest thing to get on over her temporary splint – she’d looked small and pale and bruised, lost against the white sheets of his big bed. Whatever the pain medication was that the hospital had sent her home with was good and strong.

Expecting to see her in exactly the same place that he’d left her, he detoured past the bedroom and opened the door a crack. The first thing he registered was that his bed was empty. The second was the sound of sobbing coming from the other side of the room. Swinging the door wide, he spotted Annabel in a heap on the floor just inside the en suite.

‘What’s happened?’ Dumping the bags, he strode towards her and dropped into a crouch. Arms reaching for her, he hesitated, not knowing where was safe to touch. ‘Did you fall? Have you hurt yourself?’

She looked up at him through the tangle of her long hair. ‘I’m all right. I didn’t fall. Just felt dizzy and ran out of steam.’

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you.’ He reached to brush her hair from her eyes, but she flinched away. ‘Why are you even up?’ he asked softly, letting his hand drop. ‘Did you need to use the bathroom?’

‘No. Yes,’ Annabel wailed, raising her good hand and brushing her hair aside with much more force than he would have used. Her face was blotchy from where she’d been having a good cry, her eyes and nose streaming. ‘And I wanted to get clean. Wash my hair. The last shower I had was in Vienna. I feel a mess.’ She snivelled piteously.

God. If the sight didn’t turn something over in his chest. He gave her a gentle smile. ‘
A mhuirnín
, you
are
a mess. And only making it worse by trying to do too much, too soon. I know you want to do things yourself, but I wish you’d waited for me to help you.’

‘I’m not a child,’ she groused, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

‘No,’ he said soothingly, aware that it was pain and frustration that was making her act like one. ‘You’re not.’

His calm reply took the heat out of her temper. ‘I hate being helpless,’ she said, which he took as an apology.

‘Believe me, I know the feeling. I hated it too. Come on. Let’s get you off the floor.’ He put his hands under her arms and pulled her to her feet. She was shaking and wobbly on her bare legs as he walked her back to the bed. ‘I remember how frustrating the road to recovery can be, but rushing things isn’t the answer. Take it from someone who learned the hard way – you’ll only set yourself back.’

He sat her on the mattress and moved the box of tissues from the bedside table to beside her. ‘Having said that, nothing feels as good as being clean. I think if we’re careful we can manage a bath, but no hair washing today. Will that do?’

Plucking a tissue out, she nodded.

Aidan went to the en suite and set about running a bath. He had various potions and salts that would work well for relaxing Annabel’s muscles, but he was concerned that they’d aggravate her cuts and grazes. That bastard Maplin had been wearing rings when he’d laid into her – chunky rings that had not only gouged the skin on her cheekbones, but on her hands where she’d tried to protect herself.

However, he did have something that might be good. Annabel had a clump of tissues held to her face as he passed through the bedroom and made for the storage cupboard in his hall. There he found the enormous cellophane wrapped basket of organic baby products that some bouncy sales assistant had convinced him was the perfect gift for his pregnant sister. Raiding it, he discovered a bottle of hypo-allergenic, 100-percent natural, pure plant-extract, gently foaming baby bath. Perfect.

He took the bottle back into the en suite and squeezed an amount under the running water. Leaving the tub to fill, he returned to the bedroom where Annabel sat dry-eyed now but looking completely drained.

‘All right if I put your hair up?’ he asked. When she nodded he retrieved her toiletries bag from the overnight case he’d packed and handed it to her. ‘Pass me your hair brush.’

Climbing onto the mattress behind her, he ran the brush through her hair in long, soft strokes, easing just enough of the tangles out to allow him to braid it.

‘How did you learn to plait hair?’

‘Sisters, remember?’ he answered, folding the long rope up to the crown of her head. ‘Clip?’

With her hair up out of the way it was a matter of making her cast waterproof, which he easily managed with the use of surgical tape from his first aid kit and a plastic bag. He led her back into the bathroom where she eyed the bubbly water with longing as he stripped himself first, then helped ease his T-shirt and her underpants off her. They stepped into the bath and he settled himself with his back against the end of the tub, pulling her down on top of him, supporting the bits that needed to stay dry.

Helping her settle into position lying on her side with her injured arm resting above the waterline on his shoulder, he held her loosely against him, careful not to press against the bruises blossoming darkly on the side of her ribcage. None of her ribs were cracked, thankfully, but he could tell by the way she held herself, by the way she sometimes caught her breath, that they were painful. He’d been by her bedside when she’d given her statement to the police, had heard how she’d sustained her various injuries – had wished he’d been a little more thorough with Tony Maplin.

Annabel sighed, her head sinking onto his other shoulder as he picked up a wash cloth and slowly ran it over her waist and hip. She felt heavenly fitted against him, relaxing into him, trusting his support. When he raised the cloth to wash her upper arm with gentle strokes, her good hand came up to lightly brush the bubbles from his split knuckles.

‘You got these because of me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t got to us.’

‘I’m only sorry I didn’t get there sooner. I thought I’d have to kick right through those damned security doors before someone let me in.’

‘You did more than enough. Thank you.’

He wanted to tilt her face up to his and kiss her. Kiss her long and slow and deep, but he didn’t know whether he could trust himself to stop once he’d started. Getting physical should be the last thing on his mind but he recognised that what he felt for Annabel went beyond the desire for sexual gratification and into the realms of some primal life-affirming need. His cock agreed. He felt her tense as he stiffened inexorably against her hip.

‘Ignore it,’ he said, pressing his lips to her hairline and trying to take his own advice. ‘I’m just happy you’re here.’

There was a moment of undeniable tension before she sniffed and broke it by saying, ‘Do we smell like—
babies
?’

He chuffed out a laugh. ‘I’m afraid to say we do,’ he admitted, and explained about the gift for his expectant sister.

‘You said you have four?’

‘Yes. The eldest is Deirdre, then Una – the one who’s expecting. I come next in the pecking order, and then the twins, Caitlin and Ciara.’

‘Five children. Sounds like chaos.’

‘With so many girls it was certainly noisy. Especially with the twins. We grew up in a rural Irish backwater, living in the gatehouse of a decaying old mansion so we had lots of freedom to run around the estate – mostly wild. I think that saved my parents’ sanity. I only remember us ever coming indoors to eat and sleep, before heading back out to explore.’

‘Wasn’t that a bit dangerous, not to mention creepy, playing in an old, empty house?’

‘We liked to scare ourselves witless with ghost stories and such, sure. But the house itself was off limits, boarded up tight and covered in no trespassing signs.’ He paused for a moment, looking back to see the place through the eyes of the skinny, dirty-kneed bundle of curiosity he’d been. ‘Not that it stopped us finding a way in. Deirdre and I braved it a few times but the others were always too scared even though there was nothing but dust and darkness to be found inside.’

‘Do you know what happened to let it get that way?’

‘Nothing nearly so fanciful as some of the horror stories our fertile young imaginations had dreamt up. Teach na Tulaí had belonged to a family called Tully for generations – that’s what the Gaelic name translates to, Tully House – whose fortune came from the whisky business. According to local legend, a sibling feud sprang up over a technical glitch in a will which resulted in the business closing and some of the estate land and tenant buildings being sold off to pay duties and legal expenses. The house itself and the distillery seemed to be the bones of contention and were left to rot out of spite. My parents bought the gatehouse when the estate was divided up. They sometimes used to talk about buying the big house with a view to renovating, but it never came up for sale.’

‘It’s probably just as well,’ she said with a small yawn. ‘Sometimes places keep hold of that sort of history. It might never have made a happy home.’

The heat of the water must be relaxing her more than he’d thought. He’d have never put her down as the superstitious type.

‘It’s funny, but it never came across to me as an unhappy place.’ Just the opposite: for as far back as he could remember, the classical proportions of the colonnaded stone façade and the grand size of the empty rooms had filled him with nothing but dreams and aspirations …

‘Are you still close to them, your sisters?’

Annabel’s question pulled him out of his reverie. ‘Yes. In fact you’ll meet Ciara tomorrow – she’s going to come and sit with you while I take my shift.’