Lily let out a soft laugh and then exclaimed, “I can’t face the police in a robe!”
“They only have a few questions. I told them you’re in no state to be given the third degree,” she stated smartly then ripped the lid off another box and pulled out a pair of pristine white satin underwear edged in delicate lace. “If it will make you feel better, wear these… and… this.” She found and shook the matching bra at Lily.
Lily couldn’t help herself, as rude as it was, and she knew it was rude, she continued to stare.
Two hours ago she’d been walking down a London street intent on doing a bit of window shopping as her meagre finances didn’t allow much more. She had several days off from work at Maxine’s store and didn’t fancy working on her house, scraping, painting, priming or hauling herself under a sink with a plumber’s manual to try to fix a pipe. She’d come to London for a little day break, to go to a few museums which were free admission and to do some shopping.
Now she’d entered Fantasy Land.
“Laura you… honestly, really, I just can’t.”
Laura moved toward her, pressed her palm against Lily’s face like Lily’s Mom did sometimes in her tender moments (of which there were many), and looked into Lily’s eyes.
“Don’t keep them waiting, my dear. The sooner you get this over with the sooner we can all enjoy our evening.”
On that she exited the room and Lily, because of the motherly touch that Laura had given her (such a familiar touch), swiftly donned the undies, the robe and just stopped herself from running to the bathroom to grab another bath sheet and wrap that around her as well.
She gingerly walked out of the room. The bath had helped as had the pills but she most definitely felt like she’d been flipped over someone’s shoulder onto a concrete sidewalk.
Lily didn’t know what she was thinking; charging after a purse snatcher except it was an expensive designer purse that she could never have afforded under normal circumstances. She’d found it while trolling through a vintage clothing store and she’d bought it for a song. She’d never be able to replace it.
Regardless of that, her actions were reckless. She could have been hurt or harmed in some other way if he’d had a knife or another weapon.
Her parents, if they ever heard of this, would kill her. Fazire would start floating and look down his genie nose and wag his genie finger at her. She could never tell them.
Carefully, holding onto the banister, she descended the stairs. She kept her body even stiffer than it felt so as not to jar any of the aches and pains that threatened. Her head was throbbing where it had hit the wall, not the pounding pain of one of her intermittent migraines but not pleasurable either.
She was concentrating on her feet hitting each of the dove grey carpet-runnered stairs. She was also assessing her pedicure, mentally telling herself that, even in England, as it was May, it was time to move away from the deep wine colour of winter and find something else like a pearly pink. Her foot hit the parquet floor of the entryway and it was then she became aware that she wasn’t alone.
Her head snapped up and there he was.
Nathaniel.
He was watching her as any romance-novel hero would watch the heroine. With one shoulder leaned against the wall and his arms crossed on his chest.
And he was utterly beautiful in a raw, powerful, immensely masculine way.
They didn’t, however, stare at each other with blissful, love-induced wonder or at least he didn’t stare at her that way. She, unfortunately, was more than likely staring at him that way to her horror. He was watching her with narrowed scrutinising eyes. Eyes that didn’t miss a thing.
Not… one… thing.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice deep and strong and sending tingles across her skin.
“Fine,” she lied and tried for a jaunty smile.
His face darkened. Obviously the jaunty smile didn’t work.
“Liar,” he said softly, dangerously, and he looked like he wanted to commit a violent act. Something like what he did to the thug, ferociously slamming him against the building like the thief had slammed her, exacting her retribution for her. The very thought of that memory chased a thrill up her spine.
“I will be fine…” she hesitated, doing a mental assessment of her aching body, “eventually.”
He watched her for a moment, his eyes sweeping the length of her, that awful look on his face. She blushed at his gaze and found she was frightened of him just a little bit. He looked sophisticated and urbane on the outside, wearing that suit so casually as if he was in jeans and a t-shirt. Somewhere, though, somewhere very close to the surface, he was anything but sophisticated and urbane.
He broke into her thoughts. “The police are in the drawing room.”
Lily was relatively certain she’d never been in a drawing room before or not one in a house where people actually lived. She didn’t know people who had drawing rooms. He pulled away from the wall and she found her body stiffening in weird preparation for something as he came toward her but he just walked by her.
With no choice, she followed.
He entered a room and she came in after him. In the room were Laura, Victor and two police officers.
“Here she is,” Laura announced, smiling at Lily encouragingly.
The room was lovely, decorated in soft pale greens accented with white cornices and stately yet comfy-looking furniture. Nathaniel moved to stand behind and beside a high backed chair. He glanced at Lily and then down at the chair and she understood somehow that he wanted her… no, was telling her to sit in the chair.
She did what she was mutely told.
The interview, as Laura promised, took less than ten minutes. They asked questions, they took notes and Laura and Victor watched her with kind, parental eyes. Not as if she’d met them hours before but as if she had been under their guardianship and devoted care since birth.
However this was not why the interview was so short.
Although she did not see him, she knew that Nathaniel stood behind her the entire time. And she knew this because she felt him there. He did not move a muscle or make a noise until the police seemed to be checking facts and asking the same questions over again.
Then in a tone that even General Patton would have calmly and unresistingly obeyed, he said, “You have enough.”
They didn’t argue or even demur, immediately one of them said, “Right, Mr. McAllister.”
They nodded at Nathaniel and Lily found she now had his last name, a name of which she approved. McAllister.
“Mr. and Mrs. Roberts.” The police nodded at Laura and Victor.
The realisation dawned that Nathaniel and the Roberts did not share the same surname and Lily wondered at Nathaniel’s relationship with Laura and Victor because he obviously wasn’t blood as she thought. He didn’t look like either Laura or Victor but Lily thought for certain the relationship was deep enough for blood ties.
Maybe he was a favoured nephew.
“We’re off,” the policeman finished.
They did not give Lily a card, ask her to call them if she remembered anything else, they just left.
Before anyone could say anything, a boyishly good-looking, not-as-tall-as-Nathaniel but still tall, brown-haired man walked in.
“What’s this? First the anniversary celebration is off, now the police are at the house. What? Has Nate’s chequered past finally caught up with us?”
Then he stopped dead and stared at Lily for some reason in open-mouthed surprise.