Sara's Child (17 page)

Stunned, she allows herself to be pulled along, muttering that anyone would think she was a petulant schoolgirl instead of a grown woman.

They enter the entrance hall, which has a champagne reception ready to greet them. Before he can stop her, Catherine reaches out to take a crystal flute from the tray of a passing waiter. Logan eyes her cautiously, and then laughs deciding to let the evening play out as it may.

As it happens, Catherine doesn’t get the chance to finish even that first drink. Robert Kingsley spots her and whisks her onto the dance-floor before she can object. Logan goes to find Arthur, who he comes across in the orangery, surrounded by well-wishers and thoroughly enjoying all the attention.

“Ah, Logan,” Arthur exclaims as he comes into view. “Glad you could make it, my boy. Did you bring that delightful young woman with you? A breath of fresh air, that one,” he continues not waiting for Logan to answer. “Doesn’t mince her words or put on any airs and graces. You’d never guess she is a millionaire to look at her, would you now?” He laughs heartily, enjoying the insider joke, and gives Logan a playful jab in the ribs with his elbow.

At Logan’s incredulous, “Are you sure about that?” Arthur laughs again then says, “Of course I’m sure. She doesn’t charge peanuts for the privilege of tapping that incredible brain of hers.” He slaps Logan soundly on his back just before his wife dragged him off to ‘do the rounds’.

Logan is staggered. Just how much more is there to learn about the wonderful woman that he has so completely given his heart to? His hesitant smile turns in to a full on grin. His already broad chest swells with pride as he acknowledges what he has been too blind to see. Catherine is not just dabbling in the computerised security industry; she and Ben are major players at the top of their game.

So why does she live in the tiniest bedsit he can imagine, and a rented one at that? Moreover, why does she insist on shopping at the Oxfam shop? That revelation had astounded him when she had told him where she got all her baggy jumpers and trousers. Though she hadn’t been the least bit embarrassed about it; quite the opposite in fact. She had declared, somewhat vehemently, that she was supporting local charity work and wearing the clothes that she is most comfortable in at the same time. Then she’d asked him if he’d seen the prices the high street shops are charging and declared them to be a ‘bloody cheek’.

Logan catches up with Catherine just as everyone is being ushered out to the specially prepared marquee where the sit down meal is being served.

“You look ravishing,” he smiles, taking in her silky blonde hair that is starting to get an interesting flick to the longer ends. The heightened colour of her cheeks only serves to make her beautiful blue eyes shimmer more brightly as she laughs up at him breathlessly.

“Thank you kind sir” she curtsies, then kisses him full on the mouth not caring who is watching.

“What was that for?” he asks when she takes a step back from him. “Not that I’m complaining,” he informs her, catching her about the waist.

Catherine looks up at him; and even in her high heels, she does still have to look up at him. “I missed you.” It comes out as a quiet oath that sounds like she’s really saying ‘I love you’.
And you taste so damned good.

The meal is exquisite, and the speeches are mercifully short – except for Arthur’s, of course. He has so many people to thank for various generous gifts and for the special friendships that have lasted over many years.

“What did you buy him, you never did say?” She whispers, leaning close to hear Logan’s answer. “Season tickets!” she exclaims loudly. “What the bloody hell does he want those for?” She asks thinking of Logan’s rugby team. “I wouldn’t have pegged Arthur or his wife as rugby fans. Unless the other one’s for Robert,” she frowns. “I suppose that might make sense.”

Logan laughs and gives her ear a playful tug. “Not that kind of season tickets, you dolt,” he tells her fondly. “They are a pair of season tickets to a private box at the Royal Opera House – both Arthur and Miriam love the opera. Perhaps we could go some time – do you like the opera?” He asks then notices that Catherine has stopped listening. Indeed, she has stopped moving at all and her hand, which had been relaxed through his arm a moment before, is now grasping it tightly.

She looks at him then, all the light in her eyes having dimmed behind fearful shadows. “I didn’t know he would be here. I’d never have come if I’d known he would be here,” she proclaims in a frightened little voice.

“Who are you talking about?” Logan looks around, frantically trying to spot who has put the fear of god in to Catherine. “Catherine, who are you talking about?” He asks again, when she just continues to stare at him.

“Charles Llwyd.” It is all she says before collapsing into Logan’s arms.

Catherine woke to find herself in one of the guest bedrooms of the mansion house. Miriam, Arthur’s kindly wife, is looking after her and assuring Logan that she will be all right after a good rest. One of the guests is a doctor and has already checked her over, apparently, but Logan still sounds frantic with worry.

“Logan…?” Her voice is weak but he hears her call out. 

“Catherine…?” He has seen her looking drained before but now she looks unearthly. Her normally alabaster skin is now virtually translucent. “You had me worried,” he smiles. Once her eyes have focused on him properly he asks, “What was that about Charles Llwyd?” Logan frowns down at Catherine wondering if he heard her right. “Before you fainted…you said something about Llwyd.”

“I heard him…” eyes widening with alarm Catherine tries to sit up “…he’s here. I heard him,” she repeats her voice rising as the memory becomes clearer.
That voice! That voice! That terrible voice!

Logan is holding her now and he is shaking violently. No. No, she realises, she is the one shaking from head to toe. “Catherine…” he is stroking her hair and his voice is soothing “…he was never here. I asked Arthur and Miriam, he was never invited. Arthur does know him but not on a personal basis, apparently…so you couldn’t have heard him. It must have been some sort of…of…” He tails off, has no idea what is going on with Catherine. How could he, as a child she witnessed the sort of horrific violence that would cause any stable adult to have a breakdown, the fact that she spent only two and a half years in psychiatric care is to her credit. “Look, you’ve been having nightmares about this man, maybe that’s all this is…some kind of an ‘awake’ nightmare?” He is clutching at straws and knows it, and so does Catherine.

“So…basically… what you’re saying is…I’m crazy as a frigging loony tune.” Her cheeks are now full of colour. Angry colour, Logan notices. “What the fuck do you expect me to do now?” Catherine leaps off the bed, her arms waving wildly in exasperation. “Maybe you should get me locked up again…isn’t that what you’re really thinking?” Pulling on the ridiculous heels that she has worn to the party, Catherine turns on Logan. “If you don’t even believe me how the fuck can you help me?”
Answer me that, Sherlock!

Turning on her heels with Logan following close behind, Catherine speeds down the staircase. However, on descending the last step Logan spins her around. “Just stop!” Logan is looking pretty angry himself. “I am not saying I don’t believe you. I’m just suggesting that there might be an alternative explanation.” His brown eyes hold a fiery glint in there dangerous depths, but Catherine is too blinded by her own temper to pay any heed.

Brushing his hand off her arm, Catherine, in a deceptively quiet, almost reasonable voice, bites out, “Let
me
make a suggestion that you would do well to act on. Get the fucking car and take me home!”

Not a word passes between them until Catherine realises that Logan is taking her back to his house. “I asked you to take me home,” she states, her temper not having cooled despite the time spent travelling back.

Giving her a sidelong glare, Logan’s temper fires up to match Catherine’s.  “Fine!” He swings the Mercedes round the next roundabout and heads back the way they just came. Five minutes later, they pull up in front of the five-bed house where Catherine rents one of them. He doesn’t stop the engine or make any move towards her, and that is just fine with Catherine.

Removing her seat belt with hands that are now trembling with temper, Catherine opens the car door and slides out. Before slamming it shut, she glares back, “Fuck it!” Even before she can turn away, the sleek black Mercedes is disappearing into the night.
Shit!

Feeling a fool, standing on the pavement in the early hours of the morning in an evening dress, Catherine wheels round then clutches at her heart in fright. “Ben…what the fuck are you doing here?” Willing her heart to stop trying to claw its way out of her chest, Catherine reaches into her tiny evening bag for her keys. Looking at them reminds her that her damn car is still parked on Logan’s drive. Perhaps she can get Ben to drop her round there some time tomorrow when Logan might be at work. It isn’t cowardly doing it that way, Catherine reasons to herself, she just can’t be arsed to have another run in with him. She has, after all, more important things to do with her time.

Ben sits quietly in the only chair, wicker with a cushion that doesn’t quite fit, that Catherine has in her one room all-inclusive living area. He watches her now, pottering about making coffee on her pathetic electric hob. Beneath it is a tiny oven, and to the side is a two-foot square work surface that has to be used for everything. Next to that is the smallest stainless steel sink and single drainer he has ever seen and he can’t stem a chuckle.

“Why do you live like this?” he asks as Catherine brings him a steaming cup of black coffee. “You could live in luxury…”

“But I choose to live here,” she interrupts, moving to the single bed to sit on it. She looks around. “I have my own bathroom…” she waves a hand towards a shower cubicle fitted into the opposite corner of the room, “…a kitchen, a bed…” she pats the blanket she is sitting on “…the only thing I can’t do in here is take a leak,” she grins ruefully. “You take money far too seriously,” she tells Ben, and gets herself more comfortable, leaning back against the wall.

“And you don’t take it seriously enough,” he scolds then smiles. “Not that you ever have. I couldn’t believe the pittance you were charging when we first met – your clients were ripping you off instead of the other way round.”

“I’m not in this for the money. It just happens to be a handy by-product of something I actually enjoy doing.” Catherine is being completely sincere. She never had much growing up alone with her mum. After she’d been murdered, Catherine had had even less. The psychiatric unit had all kinds of everything she could ever have wanted, except for her mother. And she’d had to come to terms with the fact that there was no going back – no one was going to come up to her shouting ‘hey kid, fooled yah!’ Not that anyone had ever come. She had gotten used to spending a lot of time looking out of her bedroom window.

Foster care had not been much better. You had to be able to move from one house to another at the drop of a hat, so it wasn’t a good idea to have lots of possessions. More often than not everything she’d had fitted into a couple of Tesco carrier bags. Her most important needs were more skills really. Like, how not to intrude into the resident family that was offering her a so called home. They didn’t really want her there but the benefits they claimed made it worth the hassle, she supposed. However, the one thing you had to learn was, never back down. Once you did, you were fodder for every bully who wanted to take their own frustrations, tempers or loneliness out on someone else with their fists. That had been a lesson she’d learned fast and still lived by.

Ben watches the emotions playing over her face. He has loved Catherine from the first time he laid eyes on her; but he soon learned that if he made a move on her he would be out the door and his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. Catherine had been running scared. Ben had sussed that right off. It has taken him a lot longer to piece her past together from the little tit-bits she lets drop in an unguarded moment – but they are rare. “What is it, Colson…you look haunted?”
As usual
.

“Colson…?” Ben repeats when she gives no reply.

Instead of answering his question, Catherine asks him one of her own. “You never did tell me why you were waiting outside the house for me? Did you lock yourself out or something equally daft?” She knows he hasn’t but doesn’t want her question to sound like a pervy accusation.

“No.” he states looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I took a chance that you might be home, that’s all. You haven’t been into the office since…well, since we had that god awful row.” 

“I’m actually really glad to see you.” A smile steals across his face and Catherine continues quickly. “I mean, I could use your help.” He doesn’t interrupt and she ploughs on in case her courage fails. “First, I need to fill you in on a few very personal things.”

Ben leans forward in the chair. “I think I may already know some of it,” he interrupts then sits back as Catherine looks at him, obviously annoyed.

“Just give me a minute, Ben. If I’m going to do this I need you to let me tell you in my own way.” Ben nods his assent and Catherine steels herself against the pain she knows the re-telling will bring. “You already know I have no family,” she begins steadily. “I think you may already know, too, that I was in foster care from the age of twelve until I was seventeen, and that’s when I moved here.” Her hands sweep the room again. “This was, is, my first home.”