Season of Desire: Complete Edition (21 page)

‘Miles will be staying here until we’ve concluded the investigation,’ says my father, his voice grave. ‘But I’m sorry – you won’t be able to see him.’

‘Why not?’ I stare at him, horrified. I’d been sure that I would see Miles today. It’s all I’ve been hanging on to.

‘We have our reasons.’ My father speaks in a tone I know well. It means I won’t be getting anything more from him. ‘And once I’m satisfied that you’re all right, I think you should leave here. You’ll be better off somewhere else – a change of scene – until we get this sorted out.’

I gape at him, appalled at the idea that I might be separated from Miles for . . . how long? For ever?

No! I have to see him!

‘Dad,’ I say urgently. ‘Please . . . just five minutes with Miles . . .’

He shakes his head. ‘No, honey. I’m sorry. I can’t allow it. It’s not going to happen.’

I go back to my room in a daze, trying to think everything through. My father evidently has very strong suspicions that something is going on and that Miles might be involved.

I remember the television reports and their suggestion that my crash was faked.
What’s wrong with everyone? Why do they have such vivid imaginations?

I don’t know what my father thinks might have gone on, or how he believes Miles hoped to profit by the whole thing, but that’s not my main focus right now. I’m horrified by the realisation that I’ve been forbidden from seeing Miles. I didn’t dare beg too much in case it made my father even more suspicious. After all, beyond common politeness, why should I be so concerned with seeing Miles again? According to my account, he’s just a member of staff who was doing his job. A hero, maybe – but he’s paid for his expertise. My father would expect no less from him.

Oh God, what am I going to do? How am I going to see him?

I throw myself on my bed and groan. My longing for him is so intense I can hardly stand it. He’s here, somewhere, in this very building. I wonder if he’s thinking about me, wondering how I am. Maybe he’s seen that nonsense on the television – I imagine how that will make him laugh and say something cutting in the Scottish accent that always gets stronger when he’s being sardonic, with a lift of that eyebrow to underline his scorn.

I close my eyes and begin to dream of him, remembering every inch of his skin, his taste and his feel. The events of the day have exhausted me and I quickly slip into sleep, and the most vivid dream I’ve ever known. I’m lying asleep on my bed, just as I am in reality. A presence comes into the room and even though I’m not awake, I’m alert to it, aware of it approaching me, coming closer to the edge of my bed. It’s a vast, massy presence but I can’t turn to see it. Instead I feel as though I’m paralysed. I wonder who or what this presence is. Friend or foe? I long for it to be Miles come to find me, but if it were him, surely he would speak to me, and this presence is silent apart from the sound of regular breathing. It’s closer now, sitting down on the bed. I feel the weight of it close to me on the mattress. The breathing is louder. I want to speak and move but I can’t. I’m frozen, my limbs as heavy as lead, and a sense of horror grows inside me as I realise that whatever is with me is not a benevolent presence but something that means to harm me somehow. My heart races with fear, I try to scream but I’m unable to open my mouth or even move a muscle. Panic begins to overwhelm me as I feel that great shape leaning over me, closer and closer . . .

My eyes flick open and I’m awake, panting, my heart pounding. I’m alone in my dark bedroom. The presence is gone. I dreamed it. I must have. It’s the only explanation.

I clutch at my chest, trying to regulate my panicked breathing.
Oh my God, that was horrible, horrible . . .

Despite my efforts to reassure myself that it was just a dream, I’m still shaky with the after-effects of my fear. I get up. It’s late, after one o’clock in the morning. They must have decided to let me sleep and not disturb me for dinner. I open my bedroom door and look out into the corridor, lit with the gentle glow of lamps at intervals along the hallway. It’s so quiet out there. Everyone has gone to bed.

I step out into the corridor and without really thinking what I’m about to do, I walk quickly and quietly towards the elevator. A little red light flashes near the ceiling and I notice the security camera, small and black, tucked away by the coving. I walk close to the wall so that it will catch as little of my image as possible, although it’s futile to try and hide completely. As soon as I stand in front of the elevator doors, I’ll be visible, and inside there’s another camera. Whoever is observing the CCTV screens will be certain to see me.

But why should I be afraid of that? This is my home! I should be free to move around as I like.

I summon the elevator, and when it arrives, I step inside. I stare at the buttons for a moment and then press the one marked ‘2’. A floor I’ve never visited before.

What the hell am I doing? This is crazy.

But I can’t stop myself. The doors slide shut and the elevator glides downwards, coming to a halt with a tiny chime. The doors open again and I’m looking out into another corridor, but where the ones in the main house are lit by the golden glow of lamps, this is lit with the cold grey light of recessed bulbs: functional but unwelcoming. I step out, looking around me. No one is in sight. I start to walk down the corridor, wondering what I’m doing. I don’t even know what’s on this floor, but I’m guessing that the first floor will be more utilitarian, and this floor will have the staff bedrooms on it.

I glance up and see more red lights twinkling on the side of CCTV cameras, their dark glass lenses observing the corridor. I can’t go anywhere in this place without being seen. I think suddenly of the hut, its utter remoteness and isolation. It was completely private. No one could track me there or watch my movements.

Voices spill from an open doorway but as I get closer, I realise it’s a television. I stop by the doorway and glance inside. The interior is semi-lit, partly by the bright glare of the television in the corner and partly by the grey light from the bank of screens that show the images from the cameras throughout the house. A security guard sits in front of the screens but he’s not looking at them at all. His attention is completely focused on the television and the late-night show he’s watching.

That’s good. He might not have seen me leave my floor and arrive here. I guess it’s a boring job looking at corridors that are empty most of the time.

I take the opportunity of a burst of noise from the television to dash past the doorway. It’s like being some kind of spy. I have to remind myself that I’m in my own home. I have a right to be here. Or do I? This feels disconnected to the life I know upstairs, with its light and luxury. I have a feeling the staff would not be happy to see me on their territory, and I hope that they’re all asleep.

I pass a kitchen, a large dining room with half a dozen or so small tables each set for four people, and then a sitting room, where another television is playing and a man I don’t recognise is asleep in front of it in an armchair.

I had no idea my house was so full of strangers.

I’m obviously in the staff quarters but how am I going to find Miles? I turn a corner and come to a wide hallway, with a table against one wall and above that, some rows of pigeonholes, a few stuffed with envelopes. I go over and examine them. Each pigeonhole has a name and number below it. This must be where the staff receive their post and internal communications. I scan them quickly, my heart beating faster. At first, I can’t see Miles’s name and have to calm myself and look again more slowly and carefully. Then, I find it: M. Murray. There’s no number next to his name.
The numbers must be room numbers. Why isn’t there one for Miles?
The pigeonhole is empty.

I look quickly at the other names. There are at least two dozen. Is that really how many people it takes to run my family’s life? And that’s just here at the mountain house. There are more throughout the world at my father’s many properties. All this staff, just to look after four people. I shake my head at the oddness of it, and push it out of my mind as I do a quick process of elimination on the numbers I can see against the other names. The numbers seem to run from one to twenty-five, and three numbers are not listed: 17, 21 and 24. So if Miles doesn’t have an allocated room, perhaps he’s in one of these others.

This is completely crazy. But I’m going to see what I can find.

Two corridors lead off from the hall, one labelled 1–15 and the other labelled 16–25. I head down the second one, guessing the labels must be directing towards the room numbers, and sure enough I soon pass a grey door numbered 16, then another, number 17. This place is like a dour hotel, I think, stopping in front of 17, the first of what I guess are the unoccupied rooms.

My palm feels clammy as I reach out and take hold of the doorknob. Very carefully, I twist it but I only manage half a turn before it stops. The door must be locked. I daren’t force the handle or rattle the door in case there is someone inside. I let it go, and release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then I turn and walk on further down the corridor, passing 18, 19 and 20, coming to a halt in front of 21. I’m even more nervous this time. What if it’s open, but the person inside is not Miles? How on earth will I explain myself? I can’t even begin to think of the questions that will be asked if I’m discovered here.

I steel myself, take hold of the handle and twist it. The same thing happens. A quarter turn and then a dead halt. It’s locked. I try again but with the same result. That leaves only one room left that isn’t occupied by someone else, at least as far as I can guess. I walk on towards the last four doors. I’m already giving up on this foolhardy mission but I’ve come so far, I may as well go on. The security guard is probably still watching his television show or no doubt he’d have come to investigate by now.

I’m standing in front of room number 24. The door looks identical to the others, with its chrome number, peephole and doorknob. Could this be the one with Miles behind it? There’s only one way to find out. I’m about to reach out and take hold of the handle when I’m grabbed swiftly from behind, my head is jerked back and a hand is clamped hard over my mouth. There’s no time to make a sound and before I can work out what is happening, I’m being pulled along the corridor the way I came, and then through an open door and into a dark room. The door is kicked shut and I’m enveloped in complete blackness, my eyes wide with panic but seeing nothing.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ says a voice in my ear. ‘Don’t scream, do you understand?’ Then the hand over my mouth relaxes its grip and I’m let go.

I’m panting hard with shock, adrenalin racing through me and making my hands shake and fingertips prickle as I turn to look at my assailant, but I’ve already recognised the deep voice and the Scottish accent. ‘Miles?’ I gasp.

A switch is flicked and a cool white light shines down upon us. There he is, standing right in front of me in a narrow hallway, his eyes hard with suspicion.

‘You heard me,’ he says roughly. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Chapter Eleven

‘I came looking for you!’ I say, joy bubbling up in me at the sight of him. He looks so gorgeous in a pair of loose cotton pyjama pants and a white T-shirt that shows every bulge of muscle beneath. I throw my arms round his neck. ‘I’m so glad I found you! I thought we were going to be kept apart and I couldn’t stand it. I had to see you.’

Miles is standing still and unresponsive. Then he reaches up and takes my arms from around his neck.

I gaze up into his face, worried. His expression is stony, his blue eyes almost black in the white light from the overhead bulb. Despite its hard set, his mouth is still unbearably sexy.

‘What is it? Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

There’s a pause that seems far too long, making me jittery with nervousness, before he says, ‘I don’t know if I’m pleased to see any of the Hammonds right now, if I’m honest.’ He turns and walks away from me, down the short hall and into the main room. It’s like something in a basic hotel, with a small double bed and some functional furniture. Miles sits down in a bucket armchair, looking far too big for it, and throws his arms over its back. I follow him.

‘Why?’ I ask, dismayed. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Wrong?’ He glares at me. ‘How about being interrogated for hours about the circumstances of our crash? How about being treated like some kind of criminal? I haven’t heard so much as a “thank you for saving my precious daughter’s life”.’ Miles looks angry now, and all I can think of is how amazingly sexy it makes him. His blue eyes start to flash and his hands ball into fists. ‘Your father hasn’t said as much but he’s making out that I’m some kind of blackmailer or kidnapper – I can’t quite work out what crazy ideas are floating through his head. He seems to think I’m guilty of
something
, anyway. And now they’re holding me as though I’m under some kind of house arrest.’

‘Arrest?’ I echo. ‘But you can leave if you want to, can’t you? I mean – you came out into the corridor to find me. They haven’t locked the door.’

‘It wouldn’t matter if they had. If I wanted to go, a locked door isn’t going to keep me in.’ He laughs mirthlessly. ‘But that arsehole Pierre has made it very clear that I’m not to go anywhere. I was just in the middle of deciding whether I’ll oblige him or not.’ He looks over at me. ‘I’m sitting here thinking about heading off when I see the handle of my door turning. Nice and quiet and sneaky. So I wonder if there might be some dirty tricks going on and slip out to have a look. And there you are, down the hall. You’re lucky I recognised you or it might have been rather nasty.’