‘I don’t want to. It’s cold out there.’
He laughed. Standing up he pulled the heap of towels from the towel rail and spread them on the floor. ‘Come on. You won’t feel cold with your husband to keep you warm.’ He was pulling at his belt, sliding it through the loops, unzipping his jeans, then suddenly he swooped and she felt his arms slide under her. ‘Luke, you’ll strain something!’ She smothered another giggle as he heaved her out of the bath and laid her dripping on the heaped towels. Kneeling astride her he leaned forward and pressed his lips on hers.
Katherine gazed up at him and smiled. Her arms went round his neck and her lips, soft and sweet as cherries, seized greedily on his.
‘My love,’ she murmured. ‘My king.’
With a groan he caught her to him, his hands running over every inch of her body, his tongue greedily questing over her face, her neck, her breasts, glorying in her heat and in her passion.
His cry of triumph and possession hung in the rafters above the bed and rang around the shadowy spaces of the house.
Contentedly Joss put her wet arms round Luke’s neck, pulling him closer. ‘Love you,’ she whispered. She opened her eyes sleepily, revelling in his warmth, running her tongue over the roughness of his cheek, gazing unfocused into his eyes. ‘Luke, I want to take the children away tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘Just for a few days. Please.’
He frowned. She felt his body tense. ‘Joss – ’
‘Luke. Please. Humour me.’ He was on the same side as the house, wanting to keep her there – not wanting her to go. She reached up to nibble his ear. It had she realised become suddenly very cold in the bathroom. She had begun to shiver in spite of the warmth of his body above hers.
He had lifted his head to look down at her and she saw the anger in his eyes. ‘Joss – ’
‘Please, Luke.’
She reached across him to pull at one of the towels, trying to cover her legs. ‘I’m getting cold, Luke.’ She was shivering so violently her teeth had begun to chatter. Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. His weight on her was intolerable, pressing on her chest. Panicking, she pushed at him violently. There was something over her face, pushing over her nose and mouth, an invisible weight, pushing her into the floor. With a violent wrench she threw Luke off her and staggered to her feet. Running over to the window she threw it open, leaning out into the icy wind and taking deep gasping breaths of air.
‘Joss?’ Luke’s voice behind her was sharp with concern. ‘Joss, what on earth is it? What’s wrong?’
She couldn’t speak. The stone of the mullions was freezing against the skin of her breasts, her fingers were locked onto the ivy-covered sill. She gave a great wheezing gasp, followed by another. ‘I’m sorry … couldn’t breathe … I need a drink, Luke … water …’ It was pressing in behind her now – the sense of someone close to her – breathing down her neck, closer, pressing against her. Luke had grabbed her glass of wine from the rim of the bath. Chucking the contents into the foamy water he ran to put it under the tap and brought it to her. Wrapping her dressing gown round her naked shoulders he pushed the glass into her hand. ‘Here. Drink this.’
She turned and took it in shaking hands. The figure standing behind Luke was absolutely distinct. A man – taller than Luke, and older, a man with anguished blue eyes and greying fair hair, a man with fury and pain etched into every angle of his face. As she met his eye he raised his hand towards her, then as she watched he dissolved into the steam of the bathroom and in a few seconds he had gone.
The wine glass slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. Slivers of glass scattered round her bare feet but she didn’t notice them. She stared over Luke’s shoulder for several seconds in shocked disbelief.
‘Joss? Joss, what is it?’ Luke swung round to look where she was staring. ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Are you ill?’
She couldn’t speak. He had been so real. So clear. The figure that had been only shadow and a sense of oppression to her before had shown himself clearly in all his pain and anguish and she had made eye contact with him. He had been real. For those few brief seconds he had been as real to her as Luke was now. Blinking hard she stared round, aware for the first time of the icy wind blowing in through the opened casement.
Somewhere outside the shriek of a fox rang out of the darkness. Luke leaned past her and pulled the window closed. ‘Come on, Joss. Into the bedroom. Let’s get you warm. Mind your feet, there’s glass everywhere.’
He pulled the towel round her again, and put his arm round her shoulders.
‘We have to go, Luke. Now. I have to take the children away.’ She grabbed his shirt and made him face her. ‘Luke, you have to understand. The children are in danger.’ She pushed past him and ran through into the bedroom, treading on a piece of glass which sliced diagonally into her toe. Grabbing at her dressing gown she pulled it on properly. ‘Call Lyn. Tell her to help us. We’ll take them over to Janet now. Luke. Don’t look at me like that, for God’s sake! Do it!’ She slid her bleeding foot into a slipper and pushed her hair back off her face. ‘Quickly. Don’t you understand? He has become strong enough for me to see him! The boys are in danger.’