Stay Through The Night. Anne Mather
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he lives at Kilfoil Castle, as I assume you know. But there’s no way he could offer your sister a screen test. He isn’t involved in film production. If she told you he was, she was wrong.’
‘How do you know?’ Although Rosa was prepared to accept that he might be right, she was curious how he could be so certain about it. ‘Do you know him personally?’
Liam had been expecting that. ‘I know of him,’ he said, curiously reluctant to tell her who he was. ‘He’s—something of a recluse, and to my knowledge he’s never been to Glastonbury. Your sister sounds quite young. Jameson is forty-two.’
‘Forty-two!’ If he’d expected her to know his age, too, he’d been mistaken. She hunched her shoulders. ‘That old?’
‘It’s not so old,’ muttered Liam, unable to prevent a twinge of indignation. ‘How old is your sister?’
‘Almost eighteen,’ answered Rosa at once. ‘Do you think Liam Jameson likes young girls?’
‘He’s not a pervert,’ said Liam sharply, and then modified his tone as he continued, ‘And, let’s face it, you don’t have any proof that it was Jameson she went off with.’
‘I know.’ Rosa blew out a breath. ‘But where else can she be?’ She wet her lips, her tongue moving with unknowing provocation over their soft contours. ‘Anyway, if you’ll give me those directions to the castle, I’ll go and see if Mr Jameson has an answer.’
That was when Liam should have stopped her. He should have explained who he was, and how he knew Jameson had never been to Glastonbury, but he chickened out. He’d gone too far with the deception to simply confess that he was the man she was looking for. And his innate sense of privacy made him a victim of his own deceit.
‘Look, I think you’re wasting your time,’ he said carefully. ‘Jameson has never been to a pop festival.’ He caught her eyes on him. ‘As far as I know.’
‘You know an awful lot about him,’ said Rosa curiously. ‘Are you sure you’re not a friend of his?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Liam, wishing he’d never started this. ‘But I do live on the island. It’s a small place.’
‘It doesn’t seem very small,’ said Rosa unhappily. ‘And I’m not really looking forward to meeting this man, if you want the truth. He writes about horrible things. Ghosts and werewolves—’
‘Vampires,’ put in Liam unthinkingly.
‘—stuff like that,’ she muttered, proving she hadn’t been listening to him. ‘That’s probably why Sophie was so impressed by him. She’s read everything he’s ever written.’
‘Really?’
Liam couldn’t help feeling a glow of satisfaction. No matter how often he was told by his agent or his publisher that he was a good writer, he never truly believed it.
‘Oh, yes.’ Rosa sighed again. ‘Sophie’s mad on books and TV and movies. She wants to be an actress, you see. If this man has been in contact with her, she’ll be like putty in his hands.’
‘But he hasn’t,’ said Liam. And then he amended that to, ‘You don’t really believe he has?’
‘Perhaps not.’ Rosa had to be honest. ‘But, if you don’t mind, I’d rather hear that from Liam Jameson himself.’
Liam scowled, scuffing the toe of his boot against a stone, aware that at any moment someone could come up and speak to him and then he wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.
‘Look,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Why don’t you just get on the ferry again and go home? If your sister wants to tell you where she is, she will. Until then, it would probably be wiser for you not to accuse people of things you can’t know or prove.’
Rosa shivered. ‘Get on the ferry again?’ she echoed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, it doesn’t call here again until Thursday, like I said.’
Rosa tried not to show how dismayed she felt. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. And Liam Jameson’s the only lead I’ve got.’
Liam blew out a breath. ‘Okay, okay. If that’s your final word, I’ll take you.’
‘Take me where?’
‘To Kilfoil Castle. That is where you want to go, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes. But do you think Mr Jameson will agree to see me?’
‘I’ll make sure he does,’ said Liam drily. ‘Let’s go.’
‘But I don’t even know who you are,’ Rosa protested, the idea of getting into a car with a strange man suddenly assuming more importance than it had before.
‘I’m—Luther Killian,’ muttered Liam ungraciously, waiting for her to recognise the name of his main character. But there was no reaction. Her sister might read his books, but she definitely didn’t.
CHAPTER THREE
ROSA hesitated. ‘Um—is it far?’ she ventured, drawing a sigh of impatience from the man beside her.
‘Too far to walk, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he said shortly. ‘There’s always old McAllister, of course. He runs a part-time taxi service, if it’s needed. I can’t vouch for the reliability of his vehicle, though.’
Rosa glanced down at her bag which, even looped over her shoulder, was heavier than she’d expected when she’d packed it the previous day. ‘Well, all right. Thanks,’ she said, not without some misgivings. ‘If it’s not out of your way.’
Don’t do me any favours, thought Liam irritably, reaching for her bag and opening the rear door of the car. He tossed it onto the seat and then gestured for her to get into the front. His leg was aching from standing too long and he couldn’t wait to get off his feet.
‘You didn’t say if it was far,’ she ventured, after he’d coiled his length behind the wheel, and Liam shrugged.
‘The island’s not that big,’ he said, which wasn’t really an answer. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t take long to get there.’
Rosa hoped not, but the island did seem far bigger than she’d imagined as the Audi mounted the hill out of the village. They emerged onto a kind of plateau that stretched away ahead of them, very green and verdant, with small lakes, or lochs, glinting in the intermittent rays of the sun.
Away to their left, the mountains she’d seen from the quayside looked big and imposing. Their shadowy peaks were bathed in cloud cover, but the lower slopes changed from grey to purple where the native heather flourished among the rocks. Here and there the scrubland was dotted with trees, sturdy firs that could withstand the sudden shifts in the weather.
‘This is Kilfoil Moor,’ said her companion, nodding towards the open land at either side of the road. ‘Don’t be fooled by its look of substance. It’s primitive bog in places. Even the sheep have more sense than to graze here.’
Rosa frowned. ‘Are you a farmer, Mr Killian?’
A farmer! Liam felt a wry smile tug at his mouth. ‘I own some land,’ he agreed, neither admitting nor denying it. Then, to divert her, ‘The island becomes much less hostile at the other side of the moor.’
‘And have people—like—walked onto the moor and been swallowed up by the bog?’ asked Rosa uneasily.
Liam cast her a mocking glance. ‘Only in Jameson’s books, I believe.’
Rosa grimaced. ‘He sounds weird. I suppose living up here he can do virtually as he likes.’
‘He’s an author,’ said Liam irritably, not appreciating her comments. ‘For God’s sake, he writes about monsters. That doesn’t mean he is one!’