Between The Sheets Read online

  He didn't move from his position by the door. 'This is hardly the time for sarcasm.'

  'No,' she said, feeling deflated and hopeless. 'I suppose it isn't.'

  'I don't know where I'm going,' he admitted. 'I hadn't planned any of this; it just sort of happened.'

  Dana went to him and cupped his face in her hands. 'Then let's pretend it didn't. Don't go, Gus,' she whispered. 'You love me, I know you do.'

  For a moment she saw doubt in his eyes, but then it was gone.

  'I'm sorry, Dana,' he said with finality and took her hands away. 'I'll find somewhere to stay and then I'll come back for my stuff.'

  She stiffened. 'No! If you're going,' she said, her voice shrill, 'you can take it all right now.'

  'Dana, be reasonable—'

  'Reasonable?' she cried. 'You want me to be reason-able? Okay, then, let me help you pack.' She ran to his dressing room and started taking armfuls of clothes from the rail. 'Where would you like these, in a case? Or should I just chuck them out of the window and save you lugging them downstairs?'

  He gripped one of her wrists. 'Dana, stop.'

  She swallowed back her tears and looked up into his eyes, searching for some sign of hope, but his expression was closed and unyielding. She shoved the clothes into his arms. 'I mean it, Gus, take your things now or I swear I'll burn them.' And turning on her heel, she flew out of the room and down the stairs to her office.

  She waited for him to come after her, to bang on the door to tell her it was all a terrible misunderstanding, but all she heard was his steady tread on the floorboards above as he packed his bags. Sinking into her chair, she drew her knees up under her chin and started to tremble.

  There was light in the sky when Dana awoke, a dread-ful crick in her neck and pins and needles in her toes. Apart from the energetic dawn chorus outside there was an eerie stillness about the house and she let out an involuntary gasp as memories of the previous night came flooding back. Rising from her crouched position she made her way slowly into the hall and climbed the stairs, pausing for a second before throwing open the bedroom door. She crossed the room to Gus's wardrobe but she could see, without even going in, that he'd taken everything except clothes destined for the charity bag. 'Oh, Gus, why?' she whispered as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Stumbling back into the room Dana crawled on to the bed and buried her face in his pillow.

  Hours later it was the sound of the hall door closing that woke her. Immediately she was up and running for the door. 'I knew you'd be back,' she called gaily. 'I knew it was all a mistake—'

  She pulled up short at the sight of Iris McCarthy looking up at her from the hall, a bewildered look on the woman's face.

  'But, Mrs Johnson, I always come on Monday mornings at ten.'

  Dana felt the tears well in her eyes. 'Yes, sorry, of course you do,' she managed. 'I'm sorry, Iris. It's just I don't feel very well. I think I'll stay in bed today.'

  'Of course, Mrs Johnson. Shall I answer the phone if it rings?'

  'No! No, that's okay.'

  'Very well, then. Can I get you anything?'

  Dana shook her head. 'No.'

  Iris nodded. 'Then I'll get on with the laundry.'

  Dana went back into her bedroom and closed the door. Sinking down on to the bed she reached for the phone and with shaking hands called Gus on his mobile but it went straight to the answering service. After a moment's hesitation Dana dialled his office number instead.

  'Good morning, Johnson and Cleary, can I help you?'

  'Ann, it's Dana. Could you put me through to Gus, please?'

  'Oh, hello. I'm afraid he's not here this morning. Why don't you try him on his mobile?'

  Dana swallowed hard. 'Yes, I'll do that, thank you.'

  When the phone rang thirty minutes later, Dana pounced on it. 'Gus?'

  'Sorry to disappoint you.' It was the unmistakable drawl of her agent, calling from London. 'It's disgusting, after all these years, that you still get excited when your husband phones,' he teased.

  Dana swallowed hard. 'Hi, Walter.'

  'So, how goes it, darling?'

  'Yes, wonderful,' Dana replied, hoping he couldn't hear the tremor in her voice.

  'I thought you'd still be asleep after your exciting evening.'

  'What do you mean?' she demanded, wondering how he could possibly know.

  'It was the Architects' Dinner last night, wasn't it?'

  'Oh, yes. Yes, that's right.'

  'So how did it go?'

  'Oh, you know, the usual.' Dana forced a small laugh. 'Listen, Wally, I'm in the middle of a difficult passage—'

  'Then you get right back to work,' he told her. 'I just wanted to tell you to expect a call from Ian Wilson.'

  'Who?'

  'My PR guy in Dublin. I told you about him, remember?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'He's going to get to work on your publicity and wants to have a chat with you first.'

  'That's a little premature, surely? I mean, Gretta hasn't even said they're definitely going ahead yet.'

  'It's only a matter of time,' Walter said confidently, 'and I want your name on everyone's lips. If that doesn't convince your editor that you're the obvious author to launch their new venture, nothing will. Now you get back to that keyboard, my darling, and I'll talk to you later in the week.'

  Dana hung up and was trying to decide whether or not to leave a message on Gus's answering service when the phone rang again. 'Hello?'

  'Hello, Mrs Johnson, I'm phoning from your telephone company. I wonder if you have a few minutes—'

  'I don't,' Dana snapped and hung up. For the rest of the morning she paced her room or just sat staring out into the garden. It was after three when the phone rang again. She snatched it up and clutched it to her ear. 'Hello?'

  'Hi, honey, how you doin'?'

  She groaned inwardly at the sound of her editor's voice. 'Oh, hi, Gretta.'

  'Hey, girl, you don't sound so good,' the New York editor said sharply. 'Everything okay?'

  'Everything's fine,' Dana soothed. 'It's just that I'm at a rather crucial point in the story—'

  'Then I won't interrupt you. It's just been a few days and I wanted to check in.'

  It had only been Friday when they last talked, Dana thought irritably. Sometimes Gretta was just too pushy.

  'How is The Mile High Club these days?' Gretta said with a throaty chuckle.

  'Well, I can't say from experience—'

  'I don't believe that for a moment, not with that gorgeous man of yours.'

  'Yes, well, appearances can be deceiving,' Dana said miserably.

  'Are you sure you're okay?'

  'Yeah, really, Gretta, everything's fine and the book's going great. I'm just a bit preoccupied.'

  'I love the way you get so involved in your books,' the editor said happily. 'If you need a sounding board, just call, okay?'

  'I will, thanks.'

  As Dana put the phone down there was a gentle knock on the door, and Iris came in. 'I thought you might like a little snack,' she said, setting a small tray down on the table by the window. Dana looked without interest at the sandwich but took a grateful sip of the strong hot coffee.

  Iris studied her, a worried frown creasing her brow. 'You're very pale. Maybe we should get the doctor out to have a look at you.'

  'There's no need, Iris, I'll be fine after I've had some rest.'

  'Then at least let me answer the phone for you,' Iris insisted.

  Dana sighed. 'Yes, okay, then, thank you. But if Mr Johnson calls, put him straight through.'

  Iris smiled. 'Of course. I'm sure he must be worried about you.'

  Dana blinked back her tears. 'I doubt that.'

  'Don't be silly, the man is mad about you. Now when you've finished your coffee, try to get some rest; I always think it's the best medicine.'

  'Thanks, Iris,' Dana said, feeling even more tearful at the woman's kindness.

  'You're welcome.' The housekeeper left, closing the
door quietly behind her.

  It was nearly six o'clock when Dana woke again and Iris was long gone. The tray had disappeared and in its place was a note of her phone messages. At the bottom Iris had written: Mr Johnson didn't call.

  And, Dana realized with certainty, he wasn't going to.

  Chapter Two

  Sylvie was painting her toenails when the buzzer at the gate went. She continued painting and cursed under her breath when it buzzed again. Bloody Iris. It was an ongoing battle between them as to whose job it was to answer the door. When the buzzer went a third time, Sylvie carefully replaced the top on the nail polish and went into the hall. 'Yes?'

  'Hi, it's Ian Wilson. We spoke earlier on the phone?'

  Sylvie frowned as she pressed the button to let the man in and went to open the door.

  Ian parked his rusty Fiat Uno alongside Dana's BMW and jumped out. 'Sylvie?' he asked, crossing the driveway.

  She nodded.

  'Nice to meet you.'

  She took his hand and stood back to let him in and then led him into the sitting room. 'Like I said on the phone, I'm afraid there's no possibility of you seeing Dana today.'

  'That's fine,' he said easily, folding his tall frame into an armchair. 'I just thought you could give me a bit of background information.'

  'Is there any point? She hardly leaves her room these days so I can't see her agreeing to do any interviews, can you?' Sylvie sat down opposite him and crossed one long leg over the other. 'You've had a wasted journey.'

  Ian's eyes rested appreciatively on her legs. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that.'

  Sylvie rolled her eyes. 'You are very forward, you know that?'

  He grinned. 'Well, I do work in publicity.'

  'And what exactly does that involve?'

  'I make sure that everyone knows who Dana is, what she does, and then, hopefully, they buy her books.'

  'She's already known; her dad's a poet, you know.'

  'Conall O'Carroll, yes, I know. But I'm going to make her famous in her own right not just because she's somebody's daughter.'

  'And how do you do that?'

  He shrugged. 'Get her lots of interviews, make sure she goes to all the right parties, is seen with the right people — that sort of thing.'

  Sylvie's eyes widened. 'And you do that for a living?'

  He laughed. 'It's not quite as easy as it sounds. So, tell me, what's wrong with Dana, or is she the kind of diva that regularly takes to her bed?'

  'No way, she's usually a very hard worker but her husband walked out on her three weeks ago and she hasn't written a word since.'

  Ian's lips twitched. 'I hope you're not as frank and open with everyone.'

  Sylvie's eyes narrowed. 'I'm not stupid. Walter told me that I should tell you everything.'

  'Quite right too. So why did the husband leave?'

  'I've no idea. I don't even know where he's gone, although he might be staying in their home in Cork. He loves it there.'

  'With his business in Dublin, that's unlikely. He's probably shacked up with a new girlfriend.'

  'Why do you assume that there's another woman?'

  He shrugged. 'There usually is.'

  Sylvie sighed. 'I hope you're wrong. Whatever the reason, she's devastated. I can't remember her going so long without writing before. Gretta will not be impressed.'

  'Gretta?'

  'She's Dana's editor in New York,' Sylvie explained.

  'Ah yes, Peyton Publishing. Walter's told me all about them. So does this Gretta know what's going on?'

  'No. She's been calling every couple of days but Dana won't take her calls and it's hardly my place to tell her.'

  Ian frowned. 'Walter needs to have a word with your boss. This is no time to make your publisher nervous.'

  Sylvie rolled her eyes. 'She won't talk to Walter either and, honestly, you'd think it was my fault the way he goes on. He can be such a bitch sometimes.'

  'He has his moments. And she hasn't told you any-thing about what happened?' Ian pressed. He hadn't counted on having to deal with a recently separated author, but maybe he could turn it to their advantage. Journalists got bored publicizing new books but they loved a good human interest story, especially if it involved rich, attractive and flawed individuals.

  Walter had given him a short, potted history on Dana and Gus and was pleased when Ian told him that he had already heard of the couple. Anyone who read the property and financial pages in the newspapers had heard of Gus Johnson and Tom Cleary. Their partnership was one of the leaders in Irish architecture and they were usually involved in all the most lucrative contracts. Dana wrote cheap chick-lit but was only published in the States and her main claim to fame had always been the fact that she was the estranged daughter of Conall O'Carroll. Once she got together with Gus, however, that had changed. They made a very attractive couple and were usually photographed when they attended charity events. Of course the caption would still say 'Dana De Lacey, daughter of Conall O'Carroll'. It was his job to change that.

  'Are you listening to me?' Sylvie asked crossly.

  He smiled apologetically. 'Sorry, what was that?'

  'I was saying that Dana isn't talking to me or anyone else. Mind you,' she frowned, 'Iris seems to have her ear.'

  'Iris?'

  'The housekeeper,' Sylvie explained. 'She's worked here for years.'

  Ian brightened. 'Is she here today?'

  'In the kitchen, but you're wasting your time, she won't tell you a thing.'

  'You underestimate the Wilson power of persuasion.' And with a wink, he was gone.

  'Iris?'

  The woman with the straight grey hair and equally straight back looked up from her ironing. 'Yes, can I help you?'

  Ian stretched out his hand and smiled. 'Ian Wilson. How do you do?'

  Iris watched him with sharp eyes as she briefly put her hand in his.

  'I came to see Ms De Lacey but apparently she's not receiving visitors at the moment.'

  Iris said nothing and returned to her ironing.

  'I wouldn't trouble her only Walter Grimes asked me to look in; it's about increasing her publicity in Ireland. That's my job, you see.'

  'Indeed.' The housekeeper didn't look up.

  He bit his lip; she was a tough nut, this one. 'I hear she and Mr Johnson have separated. I was very sorry to hear that. They made a lovely couple.'

  The iron paused briefly but Iris remained silent.

  'I'm sure the last thing that Dana wants at the moment is to discuss her private life so if I could just get a few facts about the break-up, I could issue a press release.'

  Iris set the iron down and looked up at him. 'Why? What's it got to do with her work?'

  'Not a lot,' he agreed, 'but the public always want to know the details of celebrities' lives.'

  'I'd say it's the reporters that want to know that information, not the public.'

  'Yes, perhaps you're right,' he said, his smile growing more forced. 'Nevertheless—'

  'Are you asking me for information about Mr and Mrs Johnson?'

  'Well, yes, some background would be great—'

  'I can't help you, Mr Wilson.'

  'But, Iris—'

  'Please see yourself out. I need to finish my work.'

  'Told you,' Sylvie said, seeing his defeated expression.

  'Don't worry, I don't give up that easily.'

  'What else can you do?' Sylvie retorted.

  'Oh, I don't know, take her out on the town and get her photographed in one of those classy nightclubs.'

  Sylvie smirked. 'You haven't even managed to get her out of her room yet.'

  'No, but you will.'

  'Me?'

  'Yes. You're going to go up there and talk her into going out and I'll make sure that her picture appears in the paper the next day.'

  'And why on earth would she agree to that?' Sylvie stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  'Because it would be a wonderful way to make her husband jealous.'

&nbs
p; 'Maybe, but I doubt she'd agree.'

  'You doubt I'd agree to what?'

  The two whirled around to see Dana standing in the doorway.

  'Dana!' Sylvie jumped guiltily to her feet. 'This is the PR consultant, Ian Wilson.'

  He smiled and reached out to shake her hand. 'It's an absolute pleasure to meet you, Ms De Lacey.'

  She nodded curtly and then turned a questioning gaze on her personal assistant. 'So what were you saying?'

  'We weren't gossiping, Dana, honest,' Sylvie said hurriedly.

  'I was just saying that I thought a night out on the town was probably what you needed after your, er, break-up and it would kick-start our publicity campaign.'

  'How?' Dana asked.

  'I'd make sure that you were photographed and that your picture appeared in one of the tabloids.'

  'I told him you weren't in the mood for socializing,' Sylvie chipped in.

  Dana looked from her back to Ian and smiled slowly. 'I don't know. Maybe it's not such a bad idea. It's been ages since I went out without ...' Dana faltered for a second, 'since I had a night out. Where do you suggest we go?' she asked Ian.

  'Lobo,' he said without hesitation.

  'Where?' Dana frowned.

  'It's the club to go to if you want to be seen,' Ian explained. "There are always photographers hanging around.'

  'That sounds perfect.'

  Ian grinned delightedly. 'Really?'

  Dana shrugged. 'What have I got to lose?'

  'You may be quizzed about Mr Johnson,' he warned.

  Dana stiffened. 'What do you mean?'

  'Well, they probably don't know that you've split up yet but they may, so you should be prepared.'

  Dana's face fell. 'Maybe it's not such a good idea.'

  'It's only a matter of time before the press find out you're separated,' Ian said gently. 'If you tell them up front it will be easier. If they think there's more to it than that, they'll be nosing around both you and your husband until they get some kind of a story.'

  'But why would they be interested in us?' Dana protested, tearfully.

  Ian smiled sadly. "This is Dublin. You know how tiny the celebrity circle is. The press are always looking for someone or something to talk about, and you and Mr Johnson are a very attractive and successful couple. Like it or not, Dana, you're news. You also have to remember that we're going to need the media if — no, when — we start to promote your book. We really can't afford to alienate them.'