Part 18 (1/2)

'And Laura told you otherwise.'

'Tonight,' Catherine nodded.

'And-that made the difference? Nothing else?' 'What else could there be?' she cried.

He hesitated a moment, and then he nodded, indeed. What else?'

'Oh, Jared, I've been through h.e.l.l!'

'Not the h.e.l.l I've been through,' he groaned, and unable to prevent himself, he pulled her into his arms, shuddering down the length of his body as his hands slid possessively over hers. He buried his face in her neck, his beard rough against her soft skin, just holding her close against him until she felt the hardening pressure of his thighs. 'G.o.d-oh, G.o.d, I want you, Catherine.'

Then, when she expected him to kiss her, he drew away from her again, trembling as he raked unsteady hands through his hair.

'This is no good,' he said thickly. 'I'm not fit to touch you. I haven't had a bath in days, and I don't remember the last time I ate. I think it was yesterday-or maybe the day before.'

'Jared!'

She caught his arm, but he released himself shakily, and she realised he was half fainting with weakness.

'Let me get a wash and a change of clothes,' he told her unevenly.

'Then I'll be fine.'

'You won't be fine!' she protested, half tearfully, although she knew tears were no good right now. 'You haven't been looking after yourself at all, have you? Dear G.o.d, Jared, do you realise, another two months of this and you'd be dead!'

He sought the back of an armchair for support, forcing a smile.

'I-had nothing to live for, did I?' he asked, with an attempt at lightness, and Catherine felt a surge of primitive hatred for Elizabeth for allowing this to happen.

She must have known how he felt, why he came to London. Yet she had been prepared to let him go on thinking the worst, that Catherine didn't care about him. If she hadn't become concerned because he had not contacted her and sent Laura to find him.

And of course, the last person she would expect Laura to contact would be Catherine. She had obviously overlooked Laura's gentler character, and her interest in Tony's rehabilitation centre.

Had this been Elizabeth's way of paying them both back for what she thought were her grievances? But even she could have had no idea of the real state of Jared's health.

'Where is the bathroom?' Catherine asked now, and Jared nodded towards the kitchen. 'Through there.'

Ignoring the urge to take him in her arms, she brushed past him and switched on the light in the kitchenette. It was small and rather grubby, but a rapid exploration revealed that the bath folded away beneath the sink, and it was large and reasonably clean. She would have liked to have taken him to her own flat with its more modem conveniences, but she guessed he did not have enough strength to trail down all those stairs and up others.

This would have to do, and turning on the taps at the sink, she began to fill the dish preparatory to transferring its contents to the bath.

Jared came to the door, leaning against the jamb for support.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm filling you a bath.'

'I can do that.'

'No, you can't.' She resisted his attempt to grasp her wrist. 'You see-you haven't the strength.' She bit back another wave of anxiety, and indicated his s.h.i.+rt and jeans. 'You'd better start undressing.'

A look of self-contempt crossed his face. 'I won't let you bathe me.'

'I wasn't about to offer,' she retorted, pouring another dish of water into the bath. 'Hurry up. This won't take long. Then I'm going to prepare you some food.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Nevertheless, you're going to eat something.'

'You're giving me orders?'

Catherine flushed 'Yes.'

He shrugged and obediently started to unzip his pants. It was intoxicating having him at her mercy like this, but she guessed that it wouldn't last long. Once he had recovered his strength...

But then she wouldn't have it any other way.

She turned her back as he got into the bath, and then handing him the soap, she said: 'Where are your clean clothes?'

He sighed, relaxing lazily in the water, disturbingly sensual in this intimate state. 'I guess they're in the dressing table drawers,' he answered, looking up at her, and a quickening of emotion in his eyes made her catch her breath. 'Come here.'

She shook her head, albeit a little reluctantly. 'Not-not now.'

She walked towards the door. 'You can give me a shout when you're finished.'

His bedroom was a small, single-bedded room opening off the living room, and these three rooms formed the flat. Going in there, Catherine grimaced at the tumbled bed and wrinkled sheets, stripping off the covers and rolling the linen up for was.h.i.+ng. She found clean sheets in a chest of drawers, and remade the bed, finding pleasure in the task.

His clothes were in disorder in the drawers, and she pulled out a tangle of s.h.i.+rts and socks, dislodging some papers as she did so.

They fluttered to the floor, and as she bent to pick them up, she saw that one was a copy draft on a London bank for a sum of money which not long ago had figured so prominently in every conversation at the centre. One hundred thousand pounds! It could not be a coincidence. And she sank down weakly on to the side of the bed, staring at the draft disbelievingly.

She ought to have guessed, she supposed, although it was such a large sum of money, she could see no reason why he should have donated it. And yet he had. It was there in black and white. And the other papers only verified what she suspected.

She looked across the living room to the kitchen door. Perhaps that was what he had meant when he had asked her why she had come here. Perhaps he had been afraid Laura had revealed the truth of what he had done.

She was still sitting there when she heard him getting out of the bath, and she pushed the papers away again, knowing she could not mention them now. She had not found his underclothes, but she had found a navy bathrobe, so she walked back to the kitchen with that.

Jared was standing at the sink when she re-entered the kitchen, the towel tucked around his hips, using his razor. He had washed his hair and it was damp and tousled; the beard had disappeared.

Already he looked years younger, if no less gaunt. He rinsed the lather from his jaw and turned to face her.

'I-' Catherine's mouth was unaccountably dry-'I couldn't find your underclothes, so I brought this.' She held out the bathrobe.

'Thanks.'

He came to take the robe. Even barefoot, he was taller than she was in her heels, steadier now than before his bath. He unhitched the towel and let it fall to the floor, and then, with a m.u.f.fled exclamation, he gathered her into his arms, finding her mouth with his, parting her lips with his tongue and kissing her with hungry urgency.

'Mmm, Catherine, you smell so good!' he groaned, his fingers finding the long zip at the back of her dress and steadily impelling it downwards.

'You-must be hungry,' she got out breathlessly, but he only gathered her closer, letting her feel the effect she had on him.