An Exception to His Rule(54)

                He took in her tear-streaked face and the anguish in her eyes. And for a moment a terrible temptation to say Stay somehow we’ll work it out, Harriet rose in him. But another side of him refused to do it, a side that recalled all too clearly and bitterly how he’d been cheated and made a fool of...

                ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is my fault, what happened here tonight, not yours. It won’t happen again, so please stay. Goodnight.’

                He touched her wet cheek with his fingertips then he was gone.

                Harriet took herself up to her flat and cried herself to sleep.

                * * *

                A week later their truce had held. Not that Damien had spent much time at Heathcote. But they were able to interact normally, or so she thought. As in the instance when she was explaining to him about his mother’s artefacts.

                ‘Isabel forgot to tell me,’ she told him.

                He lifted an eyebrow. ‘What?’

                ‘Oh, sorry, I should have started at the beginning. Your mother sold all her artefacts just before she...er...passed away. Somehow or other, the warthog tusk must have been overlooked.’

                Damien grimaced and folded his arms across his chest. ‘No doubt to your great relief.’

                ‘Mostly,’ Harriet said. ‘I have to admit the thought of becoming an expert on apes and ivory et cetera was a little daunting.’

                ‘Apes and ivory?’

                ‘It comes from the Bible—Kings, First Book, chapter ten, verse twenty-two. “...the navy of Tharshish bringing gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks.” From Africa to King Solomon.’

                ‘How did you come by that?’ he queried.

                ‘I did some research. It’s fascinating.’

                He studied her. She was now writing with her head bent and her expression absorbed. As usual, Tottie was lying at her feet. Her hair was loose and curly and she wore tartan trews and a cream cable stitch sweater. She looked at home on this cool autumn evening.

                And if she wasn’t close to becoming a part of Heathcote she wasn’t far from it—or was she already? he wondered.

                And was he mad not to make sure she stayed?

                At the same moment his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and studied it with a frown then he answered it tersely. ‘Wyatt.’

                Harriet looked up and she tensed as he said, ‘What?’ and ‘When and where?’ in hard, clipped, disbelieving tones.

                And she realised he’d gone pale and his knuckles around the phone were white, and a feeling of dread started to grip her although she had no idea what news he was getting.

                Then he ended the call and threw his phone down.

                ‘What?’ she asked huskily. ‘Something’s happened.’

                She saw his throat working and he closed his eyes briefly. ‘Charlie,’ he said hoarsely at last. ‘His plane’s gone down. Somewhere in the north of Western Australia. They either can’t be more specific or it’s classified information.’

                He sat down and dropped his face into his hands then looked up. ‘It’s rugged terrain if it’s the Kimberley. Rivers, gorges.’ He drew a deep breath then crashed his fist on the table so that her coffee mug jumped and spilt. ‘And there’s nothing I can do.’