Stay the Night (6 page)

Of course, she probably shouldn’t judge, she thought, staring at the boxes. This apple didn’t fall that far from the tree.

Viola smiled carefully at her daughter, who did her best to ignore her. “We should go downstairs. I bet Fran has a treat.”

Titania’s stomach rumbled at the mere thought. But the prospect of her mother being in the kitchen forestalled her.

Her sister looked over her shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I—”

“Fran just made scones. I smelled them on the way in.”

Was she willing to see Jacqueline to get a scone?

For Fran’s scones, yes. She’d just eat quickly and leave. She steeled herself and walked alongside Chloe, behind Viola.

Fran turned as they entered, her hands on her hips. “As I live and breathe. You look a lot like a girl I once knew. Her name was Titania Summerhill. A tart girl, but lovely.”

She grunted and dropped onto the chair next to her niece, who snickered. Chloe took two scones and then passed the plate over.

She nodded in thanks to the kid. She wondered how Reginald had felt about his grandchild. She looked like a Goth version of the Summerhill women. Titania eyed the girl’s nose ring. Too bad she hadn’t thought to get one. That’d have really irked Reginald.

Viola kissed their former nanny on the cheek. “We smelled the scones. Not even Titania could resist coming down.”

“Titania never could resist pastries. Or cookies. Or chips. I’m not sure she ate anything green in her first ten years.”

“I’m allergic to vegetables,” she said as she popped a bit of scone in her mouth.

Fran came over and ran a hand down her ponytail. “It’s a wonder you stay so thin.”

Anyone else and she’d have jerked her head from the touch. She started to make a retort, but then her mobile buzzed in her pocket.

It was Beatrice.
No luck with a phone number for MacNiven, but success on his new address.

“Yes.” She pumped a fist in the air.

Fran, Viola, and Chloe stared at her.

“Good news.” She got up, stuffing the rest of the scone in her mouth and taking the other one. She mumbled goodbye incoherently as she left to get her camera bag. The sooner she got to MacNiven’s apartment, the sooner she could convince him to let her move in and take his pictures.

How was she going to get to his house? She stopped in her tracks. Normally she’d take a cab, but she didn’t have the money to spend on the tube.

“What’s wrong?” Viola asked.

“Technical difficulty.” She made a face and turned to Fran. “Is there a bicycle I can use?”

Fran’s eyes widened. “Since when do you do anything physical?”

Since she had no car and no money. She shrugged. “Cycling is good for you.”

“Check the attic.” The older woman shook her head. “Although I think everything in there is from two centuries ago.”

Chloe stood up. “Can I come, too?”

“Sure.” The girl could help her look.

They marched up three flights of stairs, all the way to the top. The door was closed but not locked, though it took all of Titania’s weight behind it to get it to swing open.

Light from the window across the room filtered through the piles of boxes and other stuff. It smelled dusty and old—exactly like she remembered it from childhood.

“Cool,” Chloe said, lifting a sheet that covered a painting. “I didn’t know this was here.”

Titania worked her way through all the stuff, pushing a box out of the way with her foot. “Your Aunt Imogen and I used to come up here all the time. She’d dress up in all the old clothing. She’d make me wear the nasty old wigs she found up here.”

Chloe smiled wistfully. “It must have been nice having sisters.”

“One sister was enough.”

Chloe chuckled as she followed the path Titania was clearing. “I won’t tell Mum you said that.”

She winced. “Six is just so many.”

“And now you have one more.”

She grunted, not wanting to get into that with her niece.

There was a clattering of things falling over, and then Chloe called out in triumph. “I found one.”

Titania hurried over. The bicycle had seen better days. The dust obscured the rust that spotted it, and the tires would hold her until she reached a bike shop to have them filled.

Success.

The teenager frowned at it. “Will it work?”

“Of course it’ll work.” She rolled it through the attic to the door, wincing at the shrill squeak it made.

“If you say so,” Chloe murmured doubtfully.

“It’s perfect.” Anything to get her where she was going. She smiled and her niece. “Thanks for your help.”

Chloe shrugged and followed her out. She helped carry the bicycle downstairs and then murmured something about needing another scone.

Going back upstairs, Titania grabbed a jacket and her camera bag. For the first time in days she was hopeful. She might get this thing settled by the end of the week and be out of the South Street house.

None too soon.

She slung her bag across her chest, carried the bicycle outside, and then pulled out her mobile to search for a bicycle store. Fortunately there was one close by. They filled the tires without mocking her vehicle too much, and then she was on her way.

By the time she reached MacNiven’s apartment building, she was doubly determined to correct her situation, especially if it meant never riding another bicycle ever. She stumbled off it and propped it against the building. If someone stole it, it’d be a blessing.

He resided in one of those fancy high-rise buildings where people lived if they didn’t want to know their neighbors. Or if they had things to hide. Titania bet Ian MacNiven fit both categories.

She stopped next to a signpost, where she could see both the front door and the garage. Hopefully she’d run into him.

Taking out Psyche, she lifted it and took a few random snapshots, not really focusing on anything as she thought about getting in. She’d gone through less security to get to some government officials.

If she lost her career as a photographer, at least she’d make an excellent stalker.

Not that she blamed him for being scarce. If she’d gone through what he had, she’d lock herself away in a fortress, too. Some of the news articles cast doubts on whether he was sober or not. She had some experience with tabloids, because of Gigi, and so she tended to take what the media reported with a grain of salt. She didn’t judge MacNiven.

At least she tried not to.

It was difficult, because she had so much riding on him. She was already frustrated with him, and she didn’t even know him.

Frustration wasn’t going to help her when she finally met him, so she focused on taking shots of people passing by to calm herself. In the frozen moment that she snapped the shot, she learned so much about the people in her viewfinder. She captured the wife who looked at her husband with sullen resentment, the child who adored his nanny, and the casual intimacy of friends walking alongside each other.

She saw a man approach and lifted Psyche. He didn’t look like he’d live in such a posh, anonymous building. So thick with muscles that he had practically no neck, he looked like he should have lived in a dark cave.

He carried two grocery bags in one hand and had some sort of green beverage in the other. She focused on him and took a couple pictures before she noticed that all his attention was centered on her. Apparently he’d noticed her, too. She lowered the camera as he headed straight for her.

If she were wise, she’d have walked away. But no one had ever accused her of being wise. Determined was more like it. In any case, he didn’t feel menacing, just curious. Maybe he’d let her into the building.

She could charm him into letting her in.

Charming—right. She snorted.

The man stopped right in front of her and stared. “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting.”

“What for?”

“A way in.” His face was such an intriguing mix of scarred warrior and intelligence that she couldn’t help taking a couple more pictures up close.

He grinned. “Ask nicely and I’ll show you my good side.”

“Don’t tease me.”

He chortled.

She snapped another shot.
That one was it
. She lowered her camera, knowing she caught the fascinating mix of humor and intelligence in his battered face.

“So who are you here to see?” he asked.

“Ian MacNiven.”

“The soccer player?” The man’s face scrunched. “He lives here?”

“As I understand.”

“Are you paparazzi?” He preened a little. “Because I’ve never met paparazzi before.”

“I’m a photographer, but not paparazzi. I do photo essays. I know a lot of photographers want to capture some illicit photo of MacNiven, but I just want his story.” She made a face. “I don’t know why I felt like you needed to know that. You’re not British. You can’t possibly know how popular MacNiven is in the UK.”

“I have some ideas. So why do you want to take MacNiven’s pictures? He’s not that pretty.”

Actually, from what she’d seen online, he was quite fit. Sculpted body, chiseled face, and angel eyes that held a devilish gleam. His reddish brown hair was perfectly styled to look like he’d just risen from bed. But he probably had a media consultant who helped cultivate the sexy sports hero image. In reality, the guy was probably a wanker with thinning hair. “The official answer is that my publisher is interested in his recovery.”

“And the unofficial answer?”

She hesitated, not sure why she felt compelled to be honest with this man. Maybe it was the all-encompassing way he looked at her. Maybe it was because she had nothing to lose. “I slept with the wrong guy,” she admitted, “and now that I don’t want to sleep with him a second time he’s holding my career hostage. If I get pictures of MacNiven, I’ll be in with the publishers again.”

The man puffed up, as though personally affronted. “What guy would do that?”

“An egotistic control freak.”

He held out his fist. “Word.”

She bumped it. “So you see, I just want to repair my career. Photography is all I’ve ever known. And I want to be able to afford a few luxuries, like a place to live and food.”

“That’s a problem.”

“You have no idea.”

He stared at her like he could see down to her knickers. Then he tipped his head to the door. “Come on.”

“You’re letting me in?” Titania grabbed her bag and followed before he changed his mind. “Are you sure? I told you I’ve never met him.”

“I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”

Something in his tone gave her pause. She looked at the elevator buttons and then at him. “Are you abducting me?”

His head fell back as he laughed. “You aren’t even big enough for a snack, Goldie.”

She didn’t know why that was all the reassurance she needed. “Titania,” she said. “Titania Summerhill.”

“Rowdy Walker.” He winked at her. “After you, Goldie.”

She rolled her eyes and went in.

They went to the elevator and got in. Titania watched which floor he pushed, for future reference.

The big man sipped his green drink and studied her. “So, Goldie,” he said finally. “You make a living taking pictures?”

“Would you ask a doctor if he makes a living?”

Rowdy blinked. “No.”

“A lawyer?”

“No.”

“Then don’t ask me either. It’s insulting.” She made a face at his drink. “What
is
that?”

“Want a taste?” He held it out to her.

“Is it healthy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then no.” The elevator door saved her by opening. She strode into the hall and looked around, realizing she had no idea where she was going.

“We’re this way.” He headed down the hall and stopped at a door at the end. He unwrapped one finger from his drink and punched at the keypad next to the door. As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “This is Mac’s apartment. I’m staying with him.”

Frowning, she peered into the doorway he’d opened. “You aren’t leading me to a prison where you’ll keep me chained to the wall for twenty years, are you?”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as being kinky.”

“I’m being serious.”

“And seriously, if I wanted to make you my prisoner, don’t you think I could have bonked you on the head and dragged you inside? Have you seen my biceps?” He flexed his arms.

She snorted.

“Hey, now.” He pointed at her. “Be nice.”

“Sorry.” She let her mouth fall open as though she were amazed. “They’re quite impressive. Manly, even.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least you tried to save it, Goldie. You coming in to meet Mac or what?”

She wondered whether MacNiven was actually here. Did she have anything to lose, except her life?

Her life wasn’t worth much if she didn’t get this commission, so she shrugged and walked inside.

The apartment was posh in a modern way. She pictured her sister Beatrice living in a place like this—clean and sparse, accented with expensive minimalist furniture. There were no personal touches, nothing out of order.

“Don’t judge,” Rowdy said, as he closed the door with his foot and went into the kitchen area. “Mac’s been through a trauma. I’m not sure he’s in his right mind.”

“You realize I’m media, right?” She set her camera bag down on the table in the living area and took her jacket off. “You probably shouldn’t say things like that to me.”

“Can’t we trust you?”

“Yes, you can.”

Rowdy shrugged. “Then we’re all good.”

“You live here with him?”

“We’re buds. I came to help him train to get playing again.”

“You’re a trainer?”

“I’m a rugby player.” He said it proudly. “Ever hear of the Auckland Harlequins?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m the star,” he said modestly.

She couldn’t help smiling, though she believed him.

“I’m taking a break to help Mac find his feet again.”

She tried to picture taking a break from work to help someone out. She shook her head. The only person she’d do that for was Gigi. “You’re close to MacNiven then.”

“We’re brothers from another mother.”

“What’s going on here?” someone growled from behind them.

Titania whirled around, instinctively protecting Psyche.