‘Try again,’ said Laura. But all her earlier confidence and surety had gone. ‘Please.’
And then it happened. Like a miracle, Laura felt powerful male arms around her. She was being pulled backwards, out through the heat and flames and smoke, out into air that felt cold and strange and wonderful. She closed her eyes. Somewhere along the way she lost her grip on Logan’s hand. But when she opened her eyes outside, she saw Logan’s haggard face lying next to her. She was aware of a deep, wonderful, almost orgasmic sense of relief.
Then she closed her eyes again, and all was white and peace.
By the time Gabe arrived, the yard was swarming with firemen. The main fire in the barn was already out. Only a shell was left; a black, charred skeleton of the building that had once been. The flames in the stables and outbuildings – what was left of them – were being brought under control. A small crowd of villagers huddled together in horrified silence, watching the crews at work.
‘My wife!’ Gabe pushed his way through the crowd like so many skittles. ‘My wife was here. Is she OK?’
‘You’re the owner? This is your farm?’ The foreman of the fire crew came over, removing his hat and wiping the sweat off his brow with his arm.
‘WHERE’S MY WIFE?’ Gabe was shrieking like a madman. He looked ready to punch the guy’s lights out.
‘Is your wife pregnant? The foreman asked.
Gabe nodded.
‘She’s been taken into hospital.’
Gabe’s knees literally buckled under him. Lunging forward, the fireman grabbed him under the shoulders and heaved him back up to his feet.
‘She’s all right, sir. She’s fine. They’re treating her for smoke inhalation. When we got here she was trying to rescue the other young lady who was trapped in the hay barn. Your wife was phenomenally brave.’
‘The other lady?’
The fireman gestured towards a white stretcher, where paramedics were bent over Logan Cranley. Evidently they were doing something to her leg before loading her up into a waiting ambulance. Logan herself was conscious but clearly drugged up to her eyeballs. When she saw Gabe, she gave him a morphine-laden smile, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
He ran over, his face a picture of concern. ‘What the fuck happened?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Logan sobbed. ‘It was an accident.’
Bending low so as to hear her, Gabe instantly smelled the alcohol on her breath.
‘Were you drunk?’
Logan nodded miserably.
‘I’m sorry. It was just a small party. The others left. I … I must have passed out. When I woke up …’
Gabe put a finger to her lips. The gesture was slow, almost gentle. Logan exhaled, waiting for him to say something comforting. That it didn’t matter. That all that mattered was that she was safe.
Instead he looked at her with those piercing blue eyes of his swimming with hatred.
‘If anything’s happened to Laura, or our baby, I will never forgive you. I will fucking destroy you. Do you understand? You stupid, selfish, useless bitch?’
Logan nodded. She opened her mouth to say something but Gabe had already gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tatiana Cranley looked at the gold Cartier watch on her wrist and frowned. Seven o’clock. The first guests would be arriving within a few minutes and there was still no sign of Jason.
Where the bloody hell is he?
Pacing the drawing room of their stunning Belgravia townhouse, immaculately decorated and styled by her husband (interior design bored Tati to tears, but Jason had a real flair for it), she tried not to feel irritated. She knew Jason was feeling low at the moment, and that he dreaded these sorts of social occasions. ‘Not quite business, not quite pleasure,’ he called them, and he was spot on. Tonight’s soirée was a small affair, with only twelve guests, for drinks not dinner. It would, Tati fervently hoped, be over by nine. But all twelve of the guests were important, either current board members or potential new investors, carefully cultivated contacts with the wherewithal to take Hamilton Hall schools to the next level. Tati talked a lot about ‘the next level’ and always had an eye to the future. But she was sensitive enough to see that poor, sweet Jason found the present more than taxing enough.
‘Do I really have to be there tonight?’ he’d asked Tatiana this morning over breakfast. ‘I feel like Denis Thatcher at these things. I’m a total spare part.’
‘That’s not true,’ Tati said kindly, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. ‘You’re an important part of the business and the Hamilton Hall brand. More than that, you’re important to me.’