Merlyn's Magic (27 page)

She blinked up at him, still dazed by his kisses. 'Mark?'

His mouth tightened. 'I don't think his vindictiveness is
over yet. And with me gone—'

She stiffened indignantly as she straightened in the seat.
'I took care of myself for twenty-six years and I'll continue to do
so,' she snapped, pushing open the car door to climb out. 'Mark Hillier
doesn't frighten me!' she scorned.

Rand leant over in the seat to look up at her.
'Nevertheless, take care.'

She slammed the car door forcefully in his face, turning
on her heel to enter the hotel, nodding abruptly as several people she
knew acknowledged her as they sat in the bar area, all the time
conscious of the BMW accelerating away and taking Rand from her life
once and for all.

She was shaking uncontrollably by the time she reached the
sanctuary of her room. But she wouldn't cry, she told herself, refused
to cry—as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

Rand didn't love her, couldn't love her, and she had known
that all along. But she loved him more than ever. How could she go on
without even the little he had been prepared to give? Did she even want
to?

She knew what her mother's answer to that would be, one of
those women who believed no man was worth the heartache they caused,
only the fact that she was known as
Dr
Summers
preventing her using the Ms that Merlyn had told Rand she hated so
much. Oh yes, her mother would tell her to pull herself together and
get on with her life, the way she had after Mark's treatment of her six
years ago. But Rand wasn't Mark, and the thought of never seeing him
again made her drop down on the bed in a state of emotional exhaustion,
the tears still wet on her cheeks.

She dreamt of Rand, the bitter Rand, Rand the lover, and
that other rare Rand, the happy Rand that she had glimpsed only
fleetingly. And as she dreamt she cried and muttered in her sleep,
calling him back to her, needing him, wanting his arms about her as
they had been the last few nights. But he didn't come to her, and her
despair deepened.

Just as suddenly her dream changed. She was on a desert
island, and it was hot, so hot, her clothes stifling her, hindering the
movements of her body. It was so hot she couldn't breathe.
She
couldn't breathe…
!

She fought against the heat, against the sun beating down
on her so brightly, wondering why, even in her dreams, Rand didn't come
to her. The heat was becoming unbearable, taking the air from her lungs
even as she gasped to retain it, hurting her eyes. She needed air, she
had
to have air.

She woke in a panic, sitting up on the bed, her breath
catching in a choked sob as she saw the flames licking their way across
the room towards the bed, the smoke making her cough with its density.
The fire had been the heat and light in her dream, the smoke preventing
her from breathing.

As she climbed out of the bed the flames made a path
across the carpet towards her, her panicked gaze fixed on their
yellow-orange glow, just the heat from them seemed to burn her.

The door suddenly appeared a very long way away, but it
was her only chance of escape, she had to get to it. As she started to
step past the flames, the fiery tongues reached out to her and Merlyn
started to scream as she saw that the bottom of her nightdress had
caught fire.

She beat at the flames, but they just kept burning, and
she turned to run to the door, feeling the flames against the tender
flesh of her legs, feeling herself starting to sink to the floor as the
pain became unbearable, reaching out for the door handle, only to fall
as she did so, the flames engulfing her as she hit the carpeted floor.

It
was the pain that woke her, the pain of cold air on her legs, the legs
that felt as if they were still on fire. Oh God, the fire! She groaned
as she became fully conscious of her pain.

'It's all right, Merlyn,' her mother soothed. 'Don't try
to move, darling.'

Her mother? It was her mother's voice, and yet it didn't
sound quite right. She must be dreaming again, her mother had never
sounded choked with emotion in her life. No, she was dreaming, there
had been a lot of dreams lately, Rand saying goodbye to her, the
fire— It came back to her again with a vengeance; the
fire
.

Was she dead? She had felt as if she were dying as she was
burnt alive.

'Does it hurt badly, darling?' Her mother was speaking
again. 'The burns aren't too serious, but— Darling, shall I
get you something for the pain?' she asked anxiously as Merlyn groaned
again.

Pain. Yes, she was in pain. And if she were dead she
wouldn't be able feel pain.

Her lids flickered open, the lashes feeling as if they
were tangled together, the blazing light making her flinch until she
realised it was just the sun shining through the window. What window?
It couldn't be her hotel room, she remembered that had burnt.

Her mother was sitting beside the bed, an older version of
Merlyn, although her hair was more auburn than red, her eyes more hazel
than green. But that they were mother and daughter could never be
doubted. Although her mother's usual beauty, despite her years, was
marred by lines of worry and fatigue, her eyes anxiously searching
Merlyn's face.

'Well, you gave us all a scare.' She recovered quickly
from whatever softer emotions had beset her, talking with her usual
brisk manner.

Merlyn's mouth quirked ruefully at her mother's reversion
to character, although even that small facial movement gave her pain.
It seemed as if her whole body hurt her.

'The burns to your legs are just superficial,' her mother
told her reassuringly as she saw the panic in her daughter's
questioning gaze. 'Although I'm sure they still hurt,' she added in a
gentler tone. 'When I think of what could have happened…!'
She couldn't hold back her shudder of horror. 'Your bedroom was
completely gutted,' she revealed shakily. 'They only just managed to
pull you out of the room before you were overcome by the smoke.'

'They?' Merlyn managed to croak, even that small effort
making her cough.

'It's the smoke inhalation,' her mother supplied
dismissively. 'It will go off eventually. And "they" were the hotel
manager and another young man who happened to be passing and saw the
smoke coming from under your door. James and Anne Benton have been
beside themselves with worry.'

Her mother was definitely getting back to normal, making
it sound as if it were all Merlyn's fault everyone had been put to the
bother of worrying about her!

'Your father and Richard too, of course,' her mother added
unnecessarily. 'Although I insisted they both go back to work today
once we knew you were going to be all right. Margaret and the children
stayed in London, of course; I can do without them under my feet.' Dr
Summers effectively put out of her thoughts her son's wife and her two
grandsons. 'I realise it's difficult for you to talk, Merlyn.' She
looked at her daughter reprovingly. 'But aren't you going to say
anything?'

Her mother was like a runaway express train when she got
going, and anyone who dared to cross her path without being invited to
was likely to get flattened, but when you were invited to join in the
conversation it was in the nature of a royal command, and during the
next half an hour Merlyn managed, by one-word questions, which were all
her coughing fits would allow, to find out that she had been in
hospital sixteen hours, that the Bentons, Liza and Christopher had been
sitting with her when her family arrived to take over. Her mother
didn't mention Rand, so she could only presume he had gone to London as
planned and was still there.

She also learnt that her legs were burnt extensively but
not deeply, although the mess they were in made her feel weak when she
managed to persuade her mother to help her move her head so that she
could look at them.

'It isn't pretty, I'll agree.' Her mother eased her back
down on to the pillow. 'But you'll soon be back to your beautiful self
again. And that should please that director of yours,' she added
somewhat indignantly. 'He's done nothing but pace up and down the
corridor demanding to know when you'll be well enough to resume work!'

Merlyn's chuckles turned to another fit of
coughing—for which she was firmly reprimanded.

The next few days were some of the strangest she had ever
known, cosseted by her mother to such a degree that her other visitors
had to sneak into her room during the odd times Merlyn managed to
persuade her to go back to the hotel for a rest or to have a meal.

'She soon put Christopher in his place,' Liza chuckled on
Merlyn's third day in hospital, sitting on the edge of the bed with a
complete disregard of the notices that said you weren't to sit on
patients' beds. 'She told him you would be ready to work again when
she
said so and not before!'

'What did Christopher say to that?' Merlyn's voice was
still a little quavery, although she no longer coughed every time she
spoke.

'Well, he didn't say "yes, Dr Summers" or "no, Dr Summers"
like everyone else around here has been.' The subject of their
conversation strode into the room with his usual arrogance.

'No,' Liza acknowledged mockingly. 'He said "of course, Dr
Summers"!' she taunted.

Christopher gave her a pained look, laying the bouquet of
roses he had brought down on the table at the end of the bed, the white
buds just in bloom, putting the newspapers he carried down beside them.
'Your mother really is a battleaxe, Merlyn!'

She looked unconcerned by his plight. 'This is the first
time in my life she's been this protective of me—and I'm
loving every minute of it!'

'Well, no one else is,' Christopher muttered. 'She even
has all the hotel staff jumping to her smallest whim.'

'My mother doesn't have whims!' Merlyn protested.

'You should have seen Mark's face when she turned up at
the hotel that first night.' Liza's eyes glowed with merriment. 'I
thought he was going to pass out on the spot!'

Merlyn gave a rueful smile. 'The two of them never did get
on together.'

'I would say that's an understatement,' Christopher
drawled. 'Even I feel sorry for him!'

'Well I don't,' Liza dismissed. 'I quite enjoy seeing him
so subdued!'

Merlyn picked up the roses Christopher had brought to
gently touch the velvety buds. 'Thank you, they're beautiful.' She gave
him a winsome smile; Rand hadn't even bothered to send her flowers,
although she had received several other bouquets from well-wishers.

She had had quite a few visitors too the last few days,
Anne and James managing to pop in separately at some time during the
day, and yet as far as she was aware Rand hadn't even telephoned to see
how she was. Anne had to have told him about the fire, and he hadn't
cared about her enough to call her personally and see how she felt.
Even crying still hurt her, but when she was alone at night she
couldn't hold back the tears.

'I have to keep in your mother's good grace somehow,'
Christopher answered her comment about the roses. 'Do you know she even
has
Anne
organised into putting her feet up for
an hour each day?' he scorned. 'You should have heard the telling off
James got when she saw how hard Anne works in the hotel.' He shook his
head in wonder. 'And she put your father back on the train to London so
quickly after he visited you yesterday he probably still doesn't know
where he is!'

'Don't you believe it.' She gave the ghost of a smile,
doing her best to banish thoughts of Rand, although it wasn't easy.
'You get used to being organised by my mother after a while.'

Christopher still shook his head disbelievingly. 'They say
if you want to see what the woman will look like in thirty years' time
look at the mother; no wonder you're still single, Merlyn!'

'Dr Summers has her Stirling qualities,' Liza was the one
to defend. 'Her concern for Merlyn to name just one.'

'I'll never know how Merlyn had the nerve to go into
acting,' Christopher drawled mockingly. 'And talking of acting,' he
looked at Liza with narrowed eyes, 'don't you have a script to study?'

'I—'

'Or something?' he added softly, pointedly.

Liza raised her brows, standing up with a shrug. 'I can
tell when I'm not wanted. Just
remember
that Dr Summers will be back in about half an hour or so,' she warned
before kissing Merlyn on the cheeks and leaving.

'As if I'm likely to forget!'

Merlyn smiled at Christopher's shudder. 'She really isn't
that bad.' She had come to realise that herself during the last few
days, her mother's almost regimental style of organising all those
about her usually done for the other person's good and not her own. Her
mother was also a dedicated doctor, and while she might have resented
the interruption to her career her daughter's birth had made twenty-six
years ago she was certainly putting Merlyn and her welfare first now.

Christopher took Liza's place on the bed, picking up
Merlyn's hand lightly in both of his. 'I saw the tears in your eyes
just now; he hasn't come to see you, has he?' he probed gently.

Their clasped hands swam in front of her vision as the
tears she had been holding back threatened to cascade down her cheeks.
'No,' she choked, making no pretence not to know who he was talking
about. There was only one 'he' who had ignored the danger she had been
in and the pain she had suffered since then.

'Never mind,' Christopher replied briskly, putting her
hand down on the bed to turn and pick up the newspapers he had brought
with him. 'Have you seen these?' He held them up excitedly.

She shook her head. 'The nurse hasn't brought mine in
today yet.'

He lay the newspapers flat on the bed. 'You've become
famous overnight,' he told her as he held up the first paper in the
pile.