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‘Malcolm didn’t, did he?’ Daisy asked urgently, her heart hammering as she sat up straighter.
‘No, course not,’ Stephanie said drily. ‘He values his conjugal rights too much to make a mistake like that! But apparently Ronald’s walked out on Susan; he said to Malcolm that the shock of receiving the decree absolute made him realise what he’s thrown away and he wants to ask you for another chance.’
Another chance? Daisy felt sick. He thought she could ever forgive him after what he had done? He must be mad.
‘I don’t want to see him, Steph,’ she said flatly.
‘No, I knew you wouldn’t.’ There was another pause and then Stephanie said, her voice quiet but the sound of howling babies in the background, ‘The twins have woken up; I’ll have to go but I’ll ask Mum to have them for a day or two and come down to see you.’
‘Steph, there’s no need, really.’
‘I want to.’ And now Stephanie’s voice was even quieter when she added, ‘Malcolm said Ronald is determined to find you. He said he won’t take no for an answer, that he’ll do anything—camp on your doorstep for ever—but he intends to get you back. He really thinks he can persuade you, Daisy.’
‘He can’t.’ Daisy’s voice was grim.
‘I know.’
Once the goodbyes had been said and Daisy had put the phone down she lay for some minutes without moving, her head whirling and her stomach sick as Stephanie’s words reverberated in her head.
Ronald was looking for her. Even now he might be on his way to London. She had only let a few close friends have her new address and hopefully they would hav
e the sense to keep her whereabouts secret if Ronald asked, but she couldn’t be sure about that. She hadn’t stated specifically for him not to be told simply because it hadn’t occurred to her that he would come looking.
Her stomach turned over again and she felt she needed to get to the bathroom, but as she swung her legs over the side of the bed the room turned into a kaleidoscope of whirling colour and she made a little, ‘Oh,’ of distress.
She sat quite still for a moment or two and gradually the spinning hues solidified, the room stopped revolving and everything settled into its rightful place.
Daisy stretched her feet tentatively towards the floor. She felt odd, very odd, but if she rang the bell and asked for the nurse to accompany her into the bathroom it was sure to be reported and it would make it more difficult for her to insist on leaving tomorrow. She would just take it nice and slow and she’d be fine; it was only a few feet to the en suite after all.
She was halfway across the room when she felt she was going to black out. A part of her brain which was governed by instinct and self-preservation warned her to sit down before she fell down, and she sank on all fours, her knees and hands taking her weight and her head hanging down. Oh, she felt ill. She felt so, so ill. How on earth was she going to get back to bed.
‘What the hell…?’
Daisy hadn’t been aware of the door opening, neither was she conscious of the footsteps across the room, but as strong-muscled arms lifted her up as effortlessly as if she were a child she relaxed into them with a little sigh of helplessness whilst willing herself not to pass out completely.
And then, as a whiff of delicious and expensive aftershave enhanced by clean, warm male skin invaded her senses it sent a shot of adrenalin straight into her wilting frame, and she opened dazed golden eyes to see Slade’s hard, handsome face just inches from hers. The shock of it made her want to faint again.
‘Oh…’ She wriggled feebly, but in the next instant he had reached the bed, whereupon he placed her gently into its welcoming folds before drawing the duvet securely around her.
She shut her eyes again—this couldn’t be happening; it was a mirage, an awful but frighteningly seductive dream—but when they flickered open it was to see him standing by the side of the bed, his dark face frowning as he rang the bell.
‘Don’t…don’t do that,’ she murmured faintly. ‘Leave it.’
He glanced at her and then in answer rang it again.
‘Please… I’m all right now, really.’
‘Don’t talk such utter rubbish.’ It was curt and sharp and altogether too much, and to Daisy’s utter horror she felt the prick of tears against the back of her eyes.
No, she couldn’t cry! Not in front of him, not in front of Slade Eastwood! The thought was there but Daisy was powerless to follow it through, and in the next instant, as she felt her face crumple, she put her hands over her eyes to hide their betrayal.
There was a moment of blank silence and then she felt a crisp handkerchief being pushed under her nose and heard a soft and altogether different voice say, ‘Hey, come on; it’s not as bad as all that. You’re doing fine.’
She didn’t want his handkerchief, she didn’t want his words of comfort, and she certainly didn’t want him to sit on the edge of the bed and put his arm round her shaking shoulders; but that was what was happening, Daisy realised with a touch of horror.
The hospital nightie was pretty as hospital nighties went—at least it wasn’t a monstrosity of stiff white linen and wide gaping holes which were regulation hand-outs in state hospitals—but the pale pink cotton was thin and the gypsy-style neck was low, and her skin was tingling and heated at his nearness. She could feel his hand burning her where it rested on the top of her arm and he had pulled her into him, half cradling her against his chest. The black leather jacket was open and the dark blue silk of his shirt was soft and fragrant against her hot face and he smelt wonderful. Intoxicatingly wonderful.
As the thought hit her she jerked away from him, her hands unconsciously reaching out and pushing him away and her eyes wide with shock as she hitched into the far corner of the bed like a small animal seeking sanctuary from its predator.
