“I don’t have to be back to the pub anytime soon.” Darren, his second-in-command, had offered to open and man the bar this evening if needed. “I don’t mind staying with you until you know what’s going on.”
Emily pursed her lips, her expression setting into something intransigent. “Thank you, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”
She was shutting him out and he didn’t want her to. Frustrated, Owen didn’t reply. He knew there was no point in pressing, but it still irritated him and hell, hurt him. What was happening here? They barely knew each other.
And yet already something bound them together, something deep and important, and it wasn’t just a kiss. Hell if he wanted to name it, though.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, and then headed back up to the room to gather their things. Owen asked her if she wanted to book another night, but Emily shook her head.
“I do need to get back to work. And Wychwood is only an hour by train. I can come in as needed.”
At checkout, Emily insisted on paying, and annoyed, Owen said they’d split the bill.
“You wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been for me,” she protested, and he shook his head.
“We both slept in that room. We’ll split it.” Even if he wanted to pay for the whole thing himself.
Emily’s heels clicked across the floor as she headed outside to the car park. Owen watched her unhappily; she seemed brittle and remote and a million miles from the tousle-headed woman, sleepy and warm, who had woken up this morning and looked at him with a dazed sort of sadness. That woman had been approachable, someone he could talk to and trust.
This woman, with her sleek, styled hair, her perfect make-up, her silk blouse and narrow trousers, was not. This Emily was like a model or a socialite, or perhaps a powerful businesswoman. Someone whose path he would never cross, and if it did, she wouldn’t spare him a second glance.
She certainly didn’t spare him one as she made her way to the van and then climbed inside, her face angled to the window as they drove back to the Huntley Centre in silence.
Once again Owen waited in the foyer while Emily disappeared into the ward. She’d thanked him for taking her there, and Owen suspected she meant it as a farewell but stubbornly, stupidly perhaps, he wasn’t ready to go. So he waited, goodness knew for how long, for Emily to come back. What would happen then, he had no idea. For now he was content enough simply to wait.
*
“Your mother is physically stable, but she is refusing treatment or medication.”
The consulting psychiatrist, a bearded man with a quiet yet no-nonsense manner, gave Emily a direct look as she nodded mechanically.
“As a result of this, we are intending to section her under section two of the Mental Health Act. She will remain in this facility for twenty-eight days, for observation. Fortunately, the woman your mother attacked has dropped charges, so she will not face any prosecution.”
Emily swallowed dryly. She hadn’t even thought about her mother being prosecuted. Last time something like this had happened, there had been no criminal charges and the twenty-eight days had been extended to six months, before her mother had agreed to take her meds and shown signs of being mentally stable enough to be released into Emily’s care.
“May I visit her now?”
“Yes, and our hope is that will be a positive experience for both her and you.” Emily swallowed again. Her throat felt tight and sore. She wasn’t sure about it being a pleasant experience. “It will be important to stay in communication with the nurses and ward manager, to make sure your visits continue to be helpful.”
“Yes.”
The psychiatrist cocked his head, his gaze turning sympathetic. “And it’s also important that you have the support you need.”
Fleetingly Emily thought of Owen. He was probably heading back to Wychwood by now, glad to be shot of her and her crazy mother. Why had she pushed him away? Yet what else could she have done?
“I’m fine,” she told the doctor firmly. It was what she always said, every time. There had never been the slightest chance of saying—or feeling—anything else. “But I’d like to see my mother now.”
Thankfully the restraints were off her mother’s wrists and ankles as Emily was let into her room, the door locked behind her. Naomi’s eyes fluttered open as she approached the bed, and then her mother stiffened before struggling upright.
“Emily. Emily.”
“Hello, Mum.” Emily tried to keep her voice incongruously cheerful as she stood next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Emily, darling, you’ve got to get me out of here.” Her mother’s hand scrabbled for her arm, fingers clenching around her wrist, ragged nails digging in painfully. “Please. I don’t belong here. You know I don’t. They’ve completely overreacted—it’s ridiculous. I might have to sue.”
Emily tried not to wince as she uncurled her mother’s fingers from around her wrist and tried to hold her hand instead. “The doctors here want you to get better, Mum, that’s all.”
“Better? Better?” Naomi snarled. “I’m fine. You know I’m fine. I don’t need to be chained up like some animal.” She held up her hands as if they had handcuffs on.
“You’re not chained—”
“But they won’t let me go. I’m being imprisoned.”
“It’s for the best, Mum. You were hurting yourself. You need to get better—”
“I don’t!” Naomi shrieked. “I don’t. You’re a liar, you’re all liars.”
Everything she said was wrong, and yet Emily kept trying. She always did, because the alternative was to give up, and the thought of doing that was unbearable. “Please, Mum, if you’d just—”
“I’m not listening to anything you say,” Naomi spat. “If you won’t help me get out of here, if you won’t even listen to me, then I don’t want
