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'Don't do that!' She swung her legs off the bed and picked up a brush from the dressing-table, began brushing her hair with rough strokes.
Conscious of Josh watching her, she asked flatly, 'Any news?'
'Of them? No,' he said, his face grim. 'I've been to see a detective agency in York. They have contacts all over the country, but they don't hold out much hope of finding them with so little to go on. It would help if we got a letter from them, or they applied for a marriage licence somewhere, but the chances of our catching up with them are slim.'
She brushed automatically, frowning. 'I still think your sister will leave him after a few days'.
'Wishful thinking,' he drawled, his face sardonic. 'You still haven't told me . . if she did leave him, would you want him back?'
She didn't answer him. He had been to York while she slept? It was twilight; the room was full of shadows. She must have slept for hours, but she didn't feel refreshed, her body was languid and her mind in turmoil. The shock of David's letter had bowled her over—or was it only that? She had been increasingly on edge for days, and she knew it. She knew who had caused her uneasiness, too, and she looked in the mirror at him, her green eyes resentful.
'What are you doing in my room, anyway?' she asked Josh angrily, and he lay back on her rumpled bed, his long body lazily at ease, his hands behind his head and his face mocking as he watched her.
'Waking you up. Sleeping Beauty. The traditional way; with a kiss.
You've been asleep for hours; I promised your father I'd look in to see that you were OK, but when I came up here I heard you talking in your sleep and it sounded as if you were having a bad nightmare. Do you remember what it was all about?'
'No,' she said shortly, eyeing herself in the dressing-table mirror and furious at the way she looked. Her shirt and jeans were creased. She was a mess.
'Was I in it?' he asked, grinning.
'Yes,' she said, to wipe the self-satisfaction out of his face.
But he just laughed, 'I walked into that one, didn't I?'
'Look,' Prue said, 'I want to change my clothes. Please go.'
He considered her with that lazy grin. 'Wear that green sweater you wore the other day. It makes your figure very sexy.'
Her eyes flashed; she went pink with temper. She marched across the room, opened the door wide. 'Goodbye, Mr Killane. I'll be OK, thank you, there's no need to stay.'
He casually got up, sauntered towards her, but didn't go, just stood there looking down at her, his brows arched.
'You're well rid of him, you know,' he said suddenly, and Prue's flush became hotter.
'I'm not discussing David with you!'
'You've known him for years, haven't you?'
'Goodbye, Mr Killane!'
'You got engaged over a year ago, you told me
so yourself—but neither of you felt any urgency about getting married. Doesn't that tell you something?'
'Will you shut up?' she blazed, her green eyes glittering like ice emerald. He had been needling her long enough; she was sick of it.
He had started getting at her almost from the very first. She should have kept out of his way; she couldn't help feeling that he was behind everything that had happened, he had caused it.
it's all your fault, anyway!' she accused.
'I suppose I might have known it would turn out to be,' he said drily.
'But tell me how, just for the sake of curiosity?'
She looked helplessly at him, trying to the charge, and remembered something she had forgotten until that moment.
'That day your sister walked in and saw us!' she slowly said, eyes widening. 'Yes, I see it now ... she jumped to all sorts of conclusions .
