apprehension.
‘I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, keep me posted.’
Lucy was numb. The minute Nathaniel had picked up the phone she’d known something was wrong. And when she’d heard him say the word police she’d known the game was up.
‘The police? They’ve been here? Looking for me?’
‘Just a phone call.’
‘You’ve been reported missing and they’re following up on a suggestion that you were last seen entering the store.’
‘They’re not going to give up, are they? I’m so sorry to have involved you in this, Nathaniel, but I can’t believe that Rupert had the nerve to involve the police.’
‘You stole a file,’ he pointed out. ‘One filled with sensitive commercial information.’
‘I know, but…’ Then, ‘Are you saying that he’s had the nerve to accuse me of stealing?’
‘Not officially.’
‘So what?’
‘He could be using the fact that there has been a campaign by your fans on the social media sites to put pressure on them. Apparently, the most used hashtag in the last few hours has been #findLucyB.’
‘Well, colour me surprised.’
‘You’re not impressed that you inspire such devotion?’
‘Not desperately. I have no doubt that it was instigated by the Henshawe PR team. Why waste time looking for someone when you can persuade half a million people to do it for you? Get a little hysteria going. But I still don’t understand. The police don’t normally bother about missing persons unless there’s blood on the carpet. Do they?’ she pressed when he didn’t immediately answer.
‘Not normally. Not this soon. It must have been the call from your mother that did the trick.’
Lucy froze.
‘My mother?’
‘She gave an emotional doorstep interview, pleading with anyone who knows where you are to call her. It’s probably online if you want to see it.’
‘No! I don’t. She’s not my mother,’ she said. ‘I told you. I don’t have a mother.’
‘Lucy-’
‘She’s a fake,’ she said quickly, all the peace, the pleasure of their evening together dissipating in that bitter reality. ‘Just another lie dreamed up to keep the press engaged.’ The worst one. The cruellest one. The rest she might abhor, but they, at least, had a purpose. ‘What’s a fairy tale without a wicked witch…?’
Except that she hadn’t been wicked. She’d been fifteen. Abandoned by an abusive boyfriend. Alone and afraid.
Before she could move, Nathaniel had his arms around her, holding her rigid body, murmuring soft calming sounds that purred through her until she finally stopped shaking. He held her while her silent, angry tears soaked his T-shirt. Held her until the tension seeped from her limbs and she melted against him.
Just held her.
It was a technique she used to calm distraught children, holding them tight so that they’d feel safe even when they fought her-her promise that, whatever they did, she would not let go. And, even as she broke down, buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed like a baby while his hands gently stroked her back, in the dark recesses of her mind, she recognized that this was something he’d done before.
That she shouldn’t read more into it than a simple gesture of comfort and gradually she began to withdraw. Ease away.
She was a survivor. She’d taken everything that life could throw at her and she’d take this, come through it. She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, putting herself back together, piece by piece, something she’d done times without number.
But never before had the loss of contact felt so personal, the empty space between two bodies quite so cold.
Then, as she brushed her fingers, palms over her cheeks to dry them, Nathaniel took away her hands, tugged up the edge of his T-shirt and used it to very tenderly dab them dry.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, pulling away from him before the tears began to fall again. ‘I didn’t plan to weep all over you.’
His response was a crooked smile and, making a pretence of wringing out his T-shirt between his hands, making a joke of it, he said, ‘Is that the worst you’ve got?’
She felt an answering tug at the corner of her own lips. She was still embarrassed at bawling her eyes out, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter so much. Nothing seemed to matter when Nathaniel smiled at her.
And that was dangerous.
Not because he was trying to fool her, but because she was capable of fooling herself. Seeing only what she wanted to see. Hearing only what she wanted to hear.
‘You have to call the police, Nathaniel. Tell them I’m here.’
‘Do I?’ he asked. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking a policeman in the eyes and telling him that you’re not in the store.’
‘No lies,’ she insisted. ‘Nobody lies…’
‘So long as I do it before the store opens tomorrow, it will be the truth.’
‘But it wouldn’t be the whole truth and nothing but the truth, would it?’
‘You care about that?’
‘I’ve been living a lie for the last six months. This afternoon I lied to Pam…’
‘You didn’t actually lie to her.’
‘I didn’t tell her the truth, which is the same thing.’ She’d actually congratulated herself on her cleverness, which, considering the way she’d berated Rupert for doing the same thing, was double standards any way you looked at it. ‘You’ve been kind, Nathaniel. Not some fairy tale Prince Charming; you’re the real thing. A “parfit gentil knyght”. But you have the store to think about, your reputation. This is going to be messy and I don’t want you involved.’
‘It’s odd, Lucy, but that’s exactly what I told myself this afternoon when I delegated one of my staff to find you, return your shoe, offer you a pair of tights, whatever else you needed. Leave it to someone else to deal with, I thought. Don’t get involved.’
‘You did that?’ For a moment she felt as if she was bathed in a warm blast, like opening an oven door. ‘Well, I guess I will need a pair of tights-’
‘I was still saying it when I had Henshawe’s bullies evicted from the store,’ he continued, taking her face in his hands.
‘-and shoes. The boots are great, but-’
‘And all the time I was driving Pam home and couldn’t think of anything but the fear in your beautiful kitten eyes.’ Instinctively, she closed them and felt the butterfly touch of his thumbs brush across her lids. His fingers sliding through her hair as he cradled her head. ‘I was telling myself to forget it. Whatever it was. That it wasn’t my problem. Don’t get involved-’
‘But, as to the rest,’ she cut in, forcing her eyes open, refusing to succumb to his touch, his voice so soft that it seemed to be lost somewhere deep in his throat.
Forcing herself to take responsibility for what had happened. Step away.
‘As to the rest,’ she said as her retreat was halted by the bulk of the island unit, ‘I’ll swallow my pride, borrow some clothes and call that taxi. Go to the nearest police station and tell them the truth.’
It was fraud. A crime…
He’d moved with her, his hands still cradled her head, his train of thought unbroken.
‘-don’t get involved. Telling myself that by the time I got back you’d be long gone.’
‘And in the morning,’ she persisted, shutting her ears to temptation, ‘you can tell the police that I’m not in the store.’
‘And that’s not being economical with the truth?’
‘Only slightly.’
‘The truth, since you’re so keen on it, Lucy Bright, is that I was involved from the moment I saw you ahead of
