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‘Although you hated him?’
Her lips trembled. ‘Because I hated him,’ she whispered. ‘I was afraid to destroy them.’
‘Could I see them?’
Annie shivered and knew she couldn’t bear to show them to him. ‘Not tonight. I’m so tired, would you mind going now? I’m very grateful, you’ve been very kind, but I’ve had enough for one day.’
‘Has it occurred to you that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day?’
‘You don’t really think I’ve forgotten that?’ she snapped, at the end of her tether.
Sean gave her a quick look; it was rare for her to lose her temper, she was usually so quiet and cool. But then she was under a lot more pressure than he had realised when he went with her to the hospital. He had seen how upset she was, which was only natural, but now he knew Annie was disturbed about far more than her mother’s accident, and her problems went back a long, long way.
‘Alright, don’t blow your top,’ he said, pouring her some more tea. ‘I don’t imagine either you or your mother are in any danger. If he has been sending you threats once a year all that time he isn’t going to turn dangerous now.’
She had told herself that over and over again. She sipped her tea, staring at the electric fire he had switched on to warm the room up. Dusk had fallen; the glow of the fire was a reassurance.
‘But if it was him … today … following my mother …’ she stammered, glancing sideways at him with unconscious appeal, her blue eyes very wide and dilated.
‘If it was,’ agreed Sean, staring down into those eyes, with their huge, glazed black pupils, and thinking that they reminded him of the dark blue of gentians in the Swiss mountains in spring. What lay behind them, though? What went on inside Annie’s head? ‘But she isn’t too strong on reality just now, is she? And why would he wait so long? It doesn’t add up. He gets a turn-on from sending you those cards, that’s all, getting his own back by making you jumpy. There’s a pattern there; he’s a type I’ve met before. They don’t generally come out of the woodwork, just go on sniping from the dark. The sort who sends poison-pen letters – that’s the category your old drama teacher fits in!’
She made a wryly amused face. ‘You still think like a policeman!’
He shrugged. ‘Can’t help it. I did the job for too long – and it isn’t a bad training for a writer, either. You see human nature in the raw, that’s for sure.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Yes, your scripts are horribly realistic.’
He laughed shortly. ‘Thanks – if it was a compliment! It didn’t sound as if it was.’
Defensive, she insisted, ‘I like the realism in the series, it gives it a far sharper edge.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, a faint flush creeping along his angular cheekbones, and she watched the faint, pale scar stand out because the flush did not show in it. Sean added roughly, ‘Just don’t fret over this guy turning up and threatening you – I think he’s the wrong type to do that.’
She bit her lip. ‘Maybe – it’s just that … well, his wife showed up today, out of the blue.’
That shook Sean. ‘His wife?’ He almost spilt his own tea, put the cup down carefully. ‘What do you mean – showed up?’
‘She started working in wardrobe this week. While we were filming I saw her talking to Derek.’ Annie swallowed hard. ‘She … She looked at me as if she hated me.’
Sean was frowning again. ‘Is she the woman who was wearing purple and bright red, and had orange hair?’
Annie did a double-take. ‘You noticed her?’
His mouth had a hard amusement. ‘She’s not easy to miss, and she’s the only newcomer in wardrobe, I knew all the other women. Policemen get used to watching faces all the time, even off duty. Look, why don’t I have a casual word with her – find out if her husband is back in London?’
‘Would you?’ She looked up at him, eyes wide and dark with a mixture of hope and weariness. ‘I’d be glad if you could.’ She bit her lip. ‘Be careful, though, he’s a nasty piece of work.’
He touched her cheek with one long index finger. ‘I’ll be very careful.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Thanks for worrying.’
The gesture was comforting, she closed her eyes, sighing. ‘He scares me rigid. He always did.’
Sean put his arms around her and held her gently, without pressure, his cheek against her hair. She leaned on him gratefully, tempted to ask him to stay all night. She was nervous about being left alone. All her life her mother had been there, she had never been alone in the house before, and it scared her to think of Roger Keats out there in London somewhere.
‘If he comes near you again, let me know,’ Sean quietly said. ‘I’ll sort him out, don’t worry. I know how to handle men like that. So you can stop worrying about him, leave him to me.’
She was close to tears, looking up at him, trying to smile. ‘You’re very kind.’ She was surprised to realise it was true – she had always thought of him as tough and determined; she hadn’t suspected he could be gentle, too.
‘Don’t cry. Are you really scared? You know, I don’t think you should be alone here.’
