To Eternity (4 page)

Chapter 4

The tenth of November, the day for the film shoot, drew nearer, and although Sian's preparations for the event were impeccable, Magnus's concerns grew. His recollection of the day she first came to the house, all business, bold and sassy, regenerated. How he'd wanted her despite it, or because of her reaction when he faced her down. Courage like hers was rare. Heaven help him, he'd discovered more of its depths these last two months. Sian's bravery gave him hope, and he took a gamble on it. Faced with her sheer determination, he had tested fate and chanced she might leave him after he'd explained to her why he lived alone as he did. He remained uncertain if he should accept the joy of the love she offered. There were few people like Sian.

Each dawn, as the shoot-day approached, he dwelt on the need to find another place to spend his time during the days when the whole camera team, the musicians, dancers, sound crew, and all the many others she'd explained would be necessary for the film, came to the house. The prospect of so many disturbed his equilibrium. He'd not invited so many strangers into his home for more years than he cared to think about. Though he did his best to disguise his apprehension, without a doubt, Sian knew.

“Magnus, it will be fine. You can come to watch the filming if you want. Think of the event as if it were a step back through your vacation pictures. I promise the costumes will bring back happy memories.”

He shook his head. “Thank you for the thought, but no, I'd rather not. Perhaps I'll spend the day researching decoration for the renovation of the conservatory.”

“If you're sure. I'll keep the crew to the schedule. Everyone will be out of the house and off the grounds by six-thirty, no later, I promise. That way we can have dinner and the evening together.” She offered him a smile filled with confidence.

“Wonderful, I'll look forward to dining with you.”

“Hmm…” She stared at the letter she'd opened. “Here's some information you might want to look at, too.”

He accepted the papers. “Green Girls?”

“Yes, in answer to my advert regarding the walled garden. It won't put itself to rights, and as much as I enjoy looking at it, I don't think we'll resurrect it alone. In my opinion, we need specialist help. I like the look of this group.”

He assessed the business card, professional enough to be encouraging. Opening the sales literature, he gave it a quick glance. “Every employee is a descendant of a Land Army girl?”

“Yes, it's their advertising gimmick. They all had relatives in the Land Army in the war. You must know of the Land Army.”

He nodded. A wave of helpless adoration hit him at this new example of her happy knack of finding his weak spots. If she'd been a tigress in another life, he'd not be surprised, because Sian sank her claws into him with loving relish, tearing into his open heart. “Yes, I have recollections of the Land Army, my dear. I was quite active during wartime. It was easier.”

“Anyway, what do you think of their price list, their offers?” She nibbled at a piece of toast.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I've not much knowledge to make a comparison.”

“Well, I think they're impressive. I thought it might be a good idea to contact the director, Martha Raynalds. I checked her resume on their website. It looks good.”

“Very well.” He flipped the pricing pamphlet over and caught a glimpse of the photograph of the director. “Dorothy Fowler?” he whispered.

“No, Magnus, Martha Raynalds.” Sian got up from her seat at the breakfast table. “I have to do one final e-mail swoop of the team this morning. Then, once I get all the ‘I'm so happy' replies, I'll know everything is ready for the shoot. I'm itching to get it over with.”

He smiled in response to her enthusiasm because he wholeheartedly agreed. Once this music film was complete, he'd close the door on Gorsewell Productions and so would Sian. His concern with her taking over the arrangements for the filming remained. If, while he recovered at the rest home, Franklyn Gorsewell so much as squeaked in her dreams, he'd face a reckoning. After this film shoot ended, there should be no more reason for Sian to have any contact with the obnoxious lout.

Though she'd not said, not since the dreadful night when Franklyn had woken from the drug induced coma and the evil wretch had invaded her dream, he knew the jealous bastard still tried to lure her. Only yesterday Franklyn had called to her. Gorsewell was playing with the dream interactions. Magnus had sensed the slimy maggot's presence once or twice in the aftermath of the dreams he'd shared with her as he and Sian had slept.

The night he had sought vengeance and attacked Franklyn, he should have finished him off.

He closed his eyes at the image of the blood-splattered apartment. Such a powerful memory should have held a kernel of satisfaction, but it didn't, only a deep fear at what the beast's bite could do.

His initial gut instinct after Gorsewell attacked her in the dream, had been yes, here was one he would have to subdue. The visit to the hospital with Sian at the beginning of October had set him wondering at the possibilities. Franklyn suspected him for what he was—he'd sensed it. Hence, he'd given a sharp heads-up to a potential werewolf to know his place when in the presence of his creator.

When he returned home with Sian, along with easing her fears, he'd tried to dismiss his initial thoughts as an overreaction to the situation. So much medical interference, the drips, the drugs, the blood transfusions, surely they must mean Franklyn remained a man.

They must.

Perhaps he should do a little investigating the day the film crew was here when Sian was busy. He'd find out what Gorsewell was up to in the rest home where he recuperated from his injuries. The wish that he'd gnawed at Gorsewell's shoulder for longer nagged, an ever present concern. A huge sigh left him, for if Franklyn were to become a werewolf, his and Sian's life would never be the same.

The consequences of his carelessness would need time and effort to put right. He could not begin the process until, if Gorsewell were infected, the yob accepted the inevitable and came to his creator in deference. Somehow, he hoped that would never happen. Should Gorsewell change, then he would feel compelled to return here. Perhaps when he felt strong enough to challenge for Sian, he would.

A prickle of sensation lifted the hairs on his arms. If Gorsewell wanted a fight, he'd be overjoyed to oblige. No twenty-first century spiv, the perfect description of Gorsewell, a furtive, cheating, greedy bully, would take the woman he adored. He took a swig of tea and swallowed. Presently he must await Gorsewell's healing. He'd deal with the outcome when the first opportunity presented itself.

Once he'd finished his cup of Earl Grey, he glanced at the promotional pages Sian had left for him, Green Girls and their company director. He looked again, certain this image could be no one but Dorothy Fowler. A finger above six feet tall, with a physique to match, she was able to down a pint of the Highwayman's Rest's Best Bitter as fast as any man. Dorothy had also shared other appetites as demanding. So many years had passed since he last saw the woman he remembered. But the sweep of fair hair from this girl's wide forehead, the strong but attractive open features, he couldn't doubt his memory. Yet Dorothy would be old now, in her eighties or nineties, not youthful and full of vigor, nor capable of shoving a wheelbarrow full of vegetables. A sudden inkling gave him gooseflesh.

No, impossible.

Damn it, he'd call the gardening company this morning as soon as they opened to find out if his intuition was right.

* * * *

“Thank you, Mrs. Tyson. We'd be most pleased. Sian and I have enjoyed all the meals Cook has so far presented. Yes, of course, I understand. You have my thanks.” He set the phone on its cradle before picking it up to call through to the study where Sian worked for much of each day to prepare for the filming. “Can we talk for a few moments?” he asked.

“Hi, Magnus, I'll just click this thing. There, yes, done. Now, you have my full attention.”

“Mrs. Tyson has rung through to me. It would appear, since I'd not told her of other plans, Cook has taken it on herself to present us with a fine Bonfire Night meal tomorrow evening, including a Neapolitan Bombe for dessert.”

“A what?”

“It's an amaretto-laced mousse.”

“Oh, will you want fireworks, too, Magnus?”

“Good grief, no. We'll make our own.” The low chuckle in response warmed his blood. “I do think I've discovered a surprise of my own to share with you. One I hope you'll understand.”

“Of course, I will. I'll meet you for lunch. You can tell me all about it then. I'm afraid I have to go. The bass player in Dreams is having a bit of a meltdown. His girlfriend is in rehab and he doesn't want to be too far away from her for too long. I need to dole out a lot of reassurance.”

“No doubt he will be grateful. You're so good at reassurance. I'll meet you in the dining room at one.” He set the phone down. When focused on others in this way, her voice always made him smile. Part of his desire for her originated from her rare generosity of spirit. His confidence she would understand what he'd discovered this morning remained high.

Sian's passion for beauty encapsulated the needs of body and spirit as well as aesthetic pleasures. He'd never met another woman like her. Julia had demonstrated a similar ability to meet him in dreams, but she had possessed nothing like Sian's talents to control him, or the bountiful spirit to offer herself in such an unconditional way. Julia had never given herself in the same manner, despite her promises of love. When faced with the question of their marriage, Julia had obeyed the will of her father, who had thought him a wastrel, and she had declined. He shrugged his shoulders. The heartbreak from so long ago seemed as though it belonged to another person, yet at the time he'd thought her refusal permanently stole every hope of joy.

No, not that, for he had dreamed and hoped still, even when he reached Italy. Julia had dreamed with him. When those interactions ceased, he'd been full of fears for her. His return from the continent to find Julia dead shattered him.

Sian was something so much more than Julia had ever been, vibrant and stronger, too. His feelings for her were…like the first time he saw electric light in London in the late nineteenth century and understood what it meant. She was his true mate. He could taste it, feel it stronger inside with every day they shared.

The agony of the question plaguing him clenched an iron fist around his heart. To make her his forever, he must offer her the bite of the beast. A shiver rolled down his spine.

Not yet. She must be sure in her decision and…she was so much younger than him. Even though she thought herself ready, he doubted she understood all she would lose.

He gazed back down to the image of the Green Girl's director. Another cloud of concerns to mull over, but simple in comparison to the dilemma he and Sian faced. She would understand the circumstance regarding Dorothy. Perhaps she'd recognize his need to take things a step further so he could find out the truth.

The prospect of a living connection to his past warmed his heart. Bonfire Night tomorrow, the fifth. There would be fireworks in the village, though he never attended the pub display. He liked standing up on the roof walkway to watch, yet sometimes the thunder of noise brought back so many recollections of the war, he crept back into the house filled with sorrowful memories. Not of the second war when he'd known Dorothy Fowler, but the first when he'd known no one but servants and the lads who made up his company in the mud-bath trenches of Verdun and the Somme.

He shook his head and glanced at the computer. An age must have passed since he thought of the pals he'd led, encouraged, and marched with through the mire as they made their way from one battle to the next. Pursing his lips, he whistled the first few notes of “It's a Long Way to Tipperary,” astonished he recalled the tune with such ease. He must be growing sentimental. He hit the touch screen to refresh his search and focused.

Artifacts for the conservatory should be his goal for the morning. Sian was always full of her morning's achievements when they met at lunch, and he must have something positive to tell her. After that, he'd share his other news.

* * * *

“What do you have there?”

“I printed this out. We could go tomorrow evening after dinner.” Sian waved a piece of paper. “It's a Bonfire Night firework display, hosted by Stonewells Cricket Club, not more than three miles away. The display starts at nine-thirty. I think it looks like it would be great, as long as there's no rain. Can we go?” Her smile beamed her enthusiasm.

“Of course,” he said. “You have found the perfect post-dining entertainment. I have to say dinner tomorrow evening will be
tres
chic. The staff are preparing an extravaganza between them.”

“Sounds exciting.” She sat, reached over for a plate, and passed one to him before she helped herself to sandwiches and a side salad.

He took a chicken portion and a little potato salad for himself. “Indeed, it seems Mrs. Tyson and Cook were rather concerned we were alone so much last week, thought perhaps we'd starved. Well, you more than I, or so I think. They've enlisted the help of the local Women's Institute to create a celebratory menu, apparently. I think half the village has been involved in planning this while the ladies have been away from the house.”

Sian laughed. “I see. I'm looking forward to the results. So, shall we book a cab?”

“I think if I telephoned my mechanic Monty, he may be willing to drive us in one of the cars. We'll not take Bertha. I'd hate to get holes in her canvas roof from a stray firework. It's so hard to get replacements for vintage vehicles, and although Bentley are very good suppliers, I've had to have things custom made once or twice. Maybe one of the other cars would benefit from a spin. Do we need to book tickets for this event?”