‘No, I won’t!’ She still couldn’t believe what he was telling her. Not after the way he had kissed her, caressed her, been a living part of her. He had to love her!
She caught at his arm as he began to rise, pulling with all her strength to restrain him. ‘You can’t just go. I won’t let you go!’
Features set, eyes like steel, he prised her fingers away from his sleeve and got up, leaving her sitting there in the sand with realisation finally coming over her like a heavy black cloud.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’ve left myself no choice. You won’t see me again unless…’ He broke off, jaw tensing, then turned away abruptly to make his way over to where the chestnut still stood patiently waiting.
Numbed throughout, Caryn watched him swing himself into the saddle and canter off without a backward glance. Only when horse and rider had dwindled to a mere speck in the distance did she finally find the strength of will to make her limbs move.
On her feet she felt sick and shaky and desperately unhappy. Logan didn’t love her; he had never loved her. It had all been a figment of her imagination.
But the feeling inside her was no figment. She felt violated, unclean. Never again, she vowed, would she allow a man to do that to her. She was finished with sex for ever!
It was only three days later that she heard of Logan’s sudden departure for Australia. Three days during which she hadn’t gone near the beach. From love, her emotions had turned to a hatred so intense it coloured her every waking moment.
The dawning realisation that she might turn out to be pregnant made her feel physically ill, the thought of having to tell her parents even more so. Luckily it was only a week before she received thankful proof that she was lucky this time, but the relief in no way tempered her feelings towards the man who had given her cause for such concern. Had he still been around, she would have found some way of paying him back for what he had done to her…
Which she would still if he made any attempt to come near her again, Caryn vowed to herself, returning to the present, although quite what, she wasn’t sure. She could hardly go and tell a dying woman just what kind of a louse her son was.
What she had to do was put the whole affair behind her and get on with her life. Logan Bannister wasn’t worth losing any sleep over.
SUNDAY was long and quiet. Restless still, Caryn took advantage of the continuing good weather to go for an afternoon stroll into town.
The sun had brought out the holidaymakers in force. For the first time in weeks the main beach was a scene of activity. Some hardy souls had even ventured into the sea, braving a water temperature that made Caryn shiver just thinking about it. She never attempted to swim in the sea before August even in a good season.
At four o’clock, having seen almost no one she knew, she set off to walk the couple of miles back home, not looking forward to the dull evening ahead. Her father was right, of course, she acknowledged wryly. She did spend far too much time on her own. The problem was finding someone she wanted to share that time with.
Apart from Jane, she didn’t have a lot in common with her contemporaries, who seemed to spend most of their time either visiting various public houses or attending discos where the loudness of the music drowned all attempts at conversation. Other than the cinema, or a trip to one of the Norwich theatres, that was about it, she supposed.
It had been different when she’d been going out with Michael Sinclair those few weeks. He had introduced her to another world. She had refused to see him again after Logan left, and had no idea at all of where he might be these days. Not that it mattered anyway.
Reaching the crossroads on the outskirts of the town proper, she took advantage of a gap in the traffic to save waiting for the green man to put in an appearance. A misjudgement, she realised immediately, hearing the sudden blare of a horn from a car that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
Hurrying to get across, she stumbled on the kerb and almost fell her length, hitting one knee against the stone edge with sickening force as she went down. She was vaguely aware of hearing a car door slam, and then there were hands under her arms, lifting her back into her feet.
‘Thanks,’ she said wryly, trying to ignore the pain from her knee. ‘That was stupid of me.’
Her voice died in her throat as she turned her head to glance at her rescuer, the apologetic little smile freezing on her lips.
‘Yes, it was,’ agreed Logan briefly. ‘You gave yourself a nasty crack. How does it feel?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Caryn assured him, recovering her tongue if not her equilibrium. ‘I’m fine!’
‘I’m sure,’ he returned with satire. ‘You’d better get in the car and I’ll run you home.’
‘I said I’m all right!’ she snapped. ‘I don’t have far to go, in any case.’
‘St Albans, isn’t it? We have to pass the end of your road.’ His tone was unequivocal.
For the first time, Caryn became aware of the woman occupying the passenger seat of the silver blue Mercedes drawn into the roadside. Dark-haired like her son, Helen Bannister was well enough known by sight around the town, if not exactly on intimate terms with the general population. She was watching the scene now with a curious expression on a face that already showed signs of deterioration in health by its lack of colour and hollow cheeks.
‘I think you had better do as Logan says,’ she called through the opened window.
Logan settled the matter by taking Caryn’s arm in a firm grasp and propelling her over to the car, leaving her with no alternative, short of causing a scene, but to slide into the rear passenger seat when he opened the door for her.
‘Put the belt on,’ he instructed. ‘It might only be a few minutes’ ride, but better to be safe than sorry.’
Safe enough in body, perhaps, Caryn thought hollowly. Fate played some dirty tricks.
Seated right behind Logan as he put the car into motion again, she was too close for comfort. The crisp, clean line of his hair across the nape of his neck made her ache with the longing to reach out and touch. Nothing had changed. Not where her senses were concerned. Everything about him made her ache.
Helen Bannister half turned in her seat to offer a somewhat reticent smile. ‘Such a lovely day for a walk after all that rain!’
‘Yes, it is.’ Caryn could find nothing to add to the abrupt affirmative. None of this was Mrs Bannister’s fault, she reminded herself. The woman could have no idea of the underlying currents between her son and this stranger he had picked up from the roadside. So far as she was concerned, he was simply playing the Good Samaritan.
‘You must be in a lot of pain after a knock like that,’ continued the other. ‘Knees are always the worst places to injure.’
Caryn forced a smile of her own. ‘It really isn’t hurting very much at all,’ she lied. ‘It was my own fault anyway. I should have waited for the green light.’
Logan made no comment, but she could sense his glance through the driving mirror, imagine his sardonic expression. They were already approaching the turn-off from the main road. He took it without hesitation, as also the next turn into St Albans, drawing to a halt in front of the Gregory residence.
‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Safe, if not exactly sound. You should get that knee seen to. You might have chipped the bone.’
‘I will,’ she affirmed,