Wedded in a Whirlwind

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘COLD?’

Manda turned as Jago’s broad shoulders emerged from the water to stand beside her beneath the waterfall.

He was lean, sinewy. There was nothing pampered or soft about him. No spare flesh. Lean, hard, with something gaunt, hollow-cheeked about the face that reminded her of an El Greco saint.

‘Not now,’ she said, and it was true. He did not have to smile to warm her, but when he did it was as if he’d switched on some internal central heating.

‘Liar,’ he said, ducking his head beneath the shower, dragging his fingers through his hair to shift the dust. And as he bent she saw the mass of purple bruising darkening his left shoulder, his shoulder blade, under his arm.

Without thinking, she reached out and touched him.

‘Miranda,’ he warned, straightening.

She took no notice but flattened her palms against the bruises as if trying to possess them, take them back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry-’

‘No!’ He turned to face her, grabbing her, shaking her a little. ‘You didn’t do this, do you hear me? It just happened. If I had dislocated it, broken it, if I had died attempting to save you it would not be your fault.’

‘I know,’ she said. And she did. ‘I just wish I had something to make to better.’

They were close.

The water was cold, but Jago was not. ‘There is something,’ he said, lifting her from her feet and moving her closer so that there was nothing between them but a film of water that was rapidly heating up. ‘Your warmth, Miranda Grenville. And, now that I can see it, your smile.’

She was smiling?

Actually, washed clean, with his body this close to hers, why wouldn’t she be smiling?

‘You want another kiss-it-better kiss, Nick Alexander Jago Jackson? Is that it?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. Her mouth was level with his shoulder, inches from his poor bruised skin, but, as she leaned into it, he backed off.

Startled, she looked up. ‘Not this time,’ He said. ‘This is an equal opportunity healing ritual. I’ve been keeping count and it’s my turn.’ And, with his gaze fixed firmly on her mouth, he lowered his lips to hers.

She watched it happen in slow motion. Seeing everything. The sunlight filtering through the canopy sparkling on the drops of water clinging to his hair. A petal drifting from somewhere above them as the air stirred. Heard the beat of wings. And then she slammed her eyes shut. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. All her senses channelled into one.

Feeling.

His lips barely touched hers-no more than a promise-before moving on to the delicate skin behind her ears, her neck. His tongue traced the hollows of her collar-bone while his fingers eased across her shoulders, the nape of her neck and she discovered an unexpected erogenous zone. That bones truly could melt.

This was not a kissing-it-better kiss. Manda might not know much, but she knew that. This was a make-the-world-go-away kiss that drew from her soft purring sighs that didn’t sound like any sound she’d ever made in her entire life.

He kissed every part of her, bringing life flooding to her breasts, blowing softly into her navel as he laid her back in the water to expose more of her body to his lips. Keeping her safe with one powerful arm as he took the concept of kissing-it-better and lifted it to an entirely different plane.

Then, with her shoulders nestled into the soft moss of the bank, she drew him to her, telling him with every touch, every murmur that she wanted more and he gave her himself so completely, so selflessly, waiting and waiting for her, that afterwards she lay in his arms, tears of gratitude in her eyes. Reborn. Renewed.

‘Are you hungry?’ He asked as they lay on the grass, recovering.

‘Starving. Shall we be greedy and eat all the mints?’

‘I can do better than that.’ He got up and swam across the pool to the waterfall and then began to climb up the rocks to pick the berries that grew there.

‘Be careful,’ she called out, more nervous now than in the bowels of the temple. But she hadn’t been able to see the danger there. Hadn’t been able to see him. Or that hideous bruise.

He just smiled and turned, but she couldn’t bear to watch and she decided to get dressed.

She recoiled from her underwear and instead slipped into her trousers, then pulled her shirt over her naked skin. Unfortunately, her fingers and the buttons didn’t want to co-operate and she was still struggling with them when Nick returned.

‘Give me your hands.’

‘I just need to-’

‘I’ll see to it when we’ve eaten. Here, take them.’ He tipped a handful of berries into her hands. ‘I’ve no idea what these are, but they’re very high in sugar. The locals dry them and use them for long journeys.’

She tried one. He was right, they were sweet. ‘They’re very good,’ she said, holding them for him to help himself. ‘But then I’m so hungry that deadly nightshade would probably taste good right now.’

‘Try a little brandy with them.’

‘This is a picnic? We can finish it off with the last of the mints.’

After they’d eaten and washed their hands in the pool, they lay side by side, just letting the sun warm them, saying nothing. What was there left to say? They both knew that what had happened had been the final act in a drama that had overtaken them.

Except, of course, for the elephant in the room.

It was Nick who finally broke the silence.

‘Miranda-’

She rolled over, putting her fingers on his mouth before he could say the words. ‘You’re safe, Nick. That’s the first time for me in ten years.’

‘Ten years? A life sentence,’ he said, holding her, kissing her damp hair, her forehead, her cheek, until she had no choice but to look up at him. ‘I can’t match that kind of celibacy, but I’ve always used protection. Until today.’

‘Today was different. This is the Garden of Eden before the Fall.’

‘Maybe, but even the most basic biology lesson would confirm that unprotected sex, wherever it happens, can lead to pregnancy.’

‘No.’ It was her last secret. Telling him would be like removing the final veil. Leaving her stripped bare, exposed in a way that simple nakedness had not. ‘Not for me. The ectopic pregnancy made a bit of a mess when it ruptured, Nick. I will never have a child of my own.’

‘I’m sorry.’

That was the thing about learning to control your own feelings-you recognised the real thing when you saw it. When Jago said those two little words, he meant it. Not in a pitying way. But because he understood how much she had lost. Understood everything.

He’d saved her life, brought her from the darkness, given her back the simple joy of her body and with those two words she knew that it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him.

It was time, in other words, to slip the mask back into place. Not to hide hurt. If she never saw him again after today it would be a cause for regret, but not for pain. He had given her more than he could ever know.

He had been compassionate, kind and, in giving her his own very special version of the kiss of life, he had, quite unknowingly, lifted that dark shadow from her life. The fear that her love was not good enough.

She had trusted him and he had not let her down and now she could trust herself. Trust the love she had been yearning to give and, instead of locking it away, scared of rejection, she would use it. First she’d reassure herself that the child they’d found-Rosie-was safe and happy. Do something for the other children out there, the ones whose thin and grubby little faces hadn’t made it into print.

She would wear her mask lightly, and only to protect him from any vestige of guilt for not loving her.

She’d been aware for some time of the sound of a helicopter quartering the ground nearby and she said, ‘Time to move, I think. If you’d deal with the buttons?’

‘We could just stay here,’ Jago replied, keeping a firm hold of her hand. ‘Live on nuts and wild berries.’

‘We could,’ she agreed. ‘But I have a documentary to produce and you have a book to write. The real story about the people who lived here.’

‘It won’t be a sex and sandals bestseller.’

‘It will be the truth. You owe them that and I promise I’ll be at the head of the line when you have your first book signing.’

‘That’s an incentive,’ he said and his smile formed deep lines down his cheeks. ‘Although academic authors tend not to make it out of their own university bookshop.’

‘Maybe the rubbish book will provoke interest.’

‘Maybe it will. I might sell three more copies.’

‘Just tell me where and I’ll bring everyone I know. We’ll have a party.’

‘If I do, will you invite me to the first screening of your documentary?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s about broken families, Nick. Adoption. The search for birth families. Reunion.’

‘Stories which don’t always have a happy-ever-after ending?’ he suggested. ‘Is that why you won’t follow up the little girl in your last documentary? In case her story doesn’t have a happy ending.’

‘I…’ She swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Then, meeting grey eyes that refused to accept anything less than total honesty, ‘I’ve let her down, haven’t I?’

‘You wanted to believe she was happy. When you’re afraid that reality might not live up to your dream, it’s tempting to stay where it’s safe.’

‘With the dream.’ She looked around at the perfect vision of paradise that surrounded them. It was lovely for a few hours stolen from life, but the scent that had at first seemed so sweet was now making her drowsy. Was that what the scent of the lilies did? Drug the senses…‘Maybe I’ve always been hung up on the dream, instead of accepting reality. Yearning for the fairy tale and missing what was in front of me.’

She turned to confront this man who’d given her back her life, both literally and emotionally.

‘Isn’t that what you’ve been doing too, Nick? Sticking with the dream of your perfect family, perfect parents. Unable to see your mother and father as just two ordinary people with ordinary frailties. Just like everyone else.’

She didn’t wait for him to answer. The question was rhetorical, something for him to think about. Instead, she removed her hand from his and, making a move for her shirt buttons, said, ‘It’s time to leave, Nick.’

As she fumbled awkwardly, he reached out and stopped her. ‘I said I’d do that.’

For a moment Jago thought Miranda was going to resist this final intimacy.

But then she smiled and let her hands drop to her lap. It was a simple gesture of trust and he fastened them carefully, without touching her, knowing that this simple act represented closure. An end to what had happened between them. On an impulse he said, ‘I’ve got an idea.’

She glanced up as a shadow passed over them, a blast of noise, a shower of leaves. The helicopter, directly overhead now. Beneath the canopy they were invisible from the air, but even so it would not be long before the world crashed in on them and, as soon as the beating of the rotor faded, he said, ‘Let’s come back here. A year from today. No matter what. You bring a packet of mints. I’ll bring a bottle of local brandy and we can pick berries. Have a feast. Maybe stay all night, gather lilies to put on a bonfire, give thanks for our deliverance.’

She smiled and for a moment he thought she was going to say that they should stay here now, for ever. But then she seemed to gather herself and, staggering to her feet, shook her head and said, ‘The lilies…Did you ever consider they might have some kind of narcotic effect?’

In other words, no.

‘Look, can we get out of here?’

She didn’t wait, but bundled her underwear, the bottle and sweet wrappers into her ruined bag and slung it over her shoulder and walked quickly up the slope to where, even now, he could hear people shouting her name. His name. Maybe he’d been a little hard on Felipe Dominez.

Leaving him and the glade as apparently untouched as before she’d burst into his life.

He dressed and followed her, reassured the searchers that there was no one left in the shattered building in which they’d spent the night. By the time he reached the clearing where he’d left his Land Rover-now lying on its side at the bottom of a gully, along with the remains of the tour bus-she had been swallowed up by her fellow tourists.

They surrounded her, exclaiming over her, hugging her, treasuring her as someone who’d returned from the dead. Then, before he could join her, he heard his own name ring out.

‘Jago!’

And then he had his arms full of woman as Fliss flung herself at him.

‘You’re alive!’

‘Apparently,’ he said, putting her down, holding her off. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here again.’

She had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Felipe wanted photographs of me at the temple. And I wanted to explain about the book. You have heard about the book?’

‘Yes, I heard. I hope it’s listed under fiction.’

‘Jago…’ She looked at him, all big eyes and hot lips. There was no doubt about it, she was one hell of a female and despite what she’d done, he grinned.

‘What are you doing here, Fliss? Really?’

‘When the earthquake hit, everyone was running around like headless chickens. If you were outside the capital…’ She shrugged. ‘I told Felipe that if he didn’t do something I’d tell everyone the truth. That the book was cooked up by some ghost-writer-’

‘And then he realised that this place was full of tourists who had families and he actually gave a damn.’

‘Well, maybe. I’m sorry, Jago. About the book. Truly.’

‘Truly, Fliss, you’re not cut out to be an archaeologist and you saw an easy way to make some money. Get the celebrity lifestyle. It’s okay. I don’t care about the book.’

All he cared about was Miranda, already being ushered towards the waiting helicopter with the other women, some of the older men. He needed to get to her, to say something, tell her…

‘You forgive me?’ Fliss persisted.

‘Yes, yes…’ he said impatiently as, over her head, he saw Miranda look back and for a moment hold his gaze.

Manda had practically fled from the glade, afraid of what she might say. Knowing that a year from now they would be different people. That to try and recapture this precious, almost perfect moment would be a mistake.

She wasn’t running away from her feelings or protecting herself-she would never do that again. Just running towards real life. Hoping, maybe, that in his own good time he’d follow her. Might remember his promise to invite her to his first book signing.

But then, as she’d stumbled into the clearing, she’d been surrounded by the rest of the tour group, who’d apparently been sheltering in one of the buildings, waiting for rescue. Believing that she was dead.

Being bustled towards the waiting helicopter along with her fellow tourists. Knowing that to delay would be to hold them up when they were desperate for food, hot water and sleep.

Except she could step back, let one of the men take her place and, as the rest of the party pushed by her, eager to get aboard, she glanced back, seeking him out.

For a moment she couldn’t see Jago and took a step back. But then she caught a glimpse of his tousled black mop of hair as he lifted his head so that he was standing a little taller than everyone else, right on the edge of the group, and she realised that he’d been talking to someone.

The bus driver, perhaps. He probably knew everyone…

‘Miss, can you get in, please…’

On the point of surrendering her seat to someone else-there was a general movement as those remaining were ushered clear of the rotor blades-she saw the someone Nick was talking to. Not the driver, not a man, but the curvy blonde who she’d last seen poured into a clinging gown and flirting with a chat show host on the television. As she stood there Nick said something and then, as if feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up and for a moment held her gaze. Still held it as the woman-Fliss, she had a name-flung herself into his arms.

And, for one last time, she dug deep for the smile that had hidden her feelings for so long. Smiled, mouthed, ‘thank you’ before turning quickly and climbing aboard the helicopter. She was the last one to board and the door was immediately slammed behind her. It took off almost immediately.

Manda kept her eyes closed as it hovered above the clearing, resisting the temptation to look down, look back. Then, as it cleared the trees, banked and headed into the sun, she opened them and made a promise to herself.

This was a new beginning and from now on it was only forwards, only positive. There would still be dark moments, but she would never again wrap them around her like a cape, but work through them to the light, knowing it would, like the dawn, like spring, always return.

Then they neared the coast and her phone beeped to let her know that she had incoming messages. She flipped it open and read the urgent, desperate messages from Ivo, Belle, Daisy who had, no doubt, been contacted by the consul when the hotel had posted her amongst the missing.

And she hit send on the stored messages that she’d written in the dark, when survival had not been certain. Simple messages that told them how much she loved them.

And then, because it was too noisy to talk, she keyed in another to tell her brother that she was safe. That she was on her way home.

Jago disentangled himself from the embrace of Fliss Grant and watched the helicopter turn and head for the coast, taking Miranda away from him.

‘How did you get up here?’ he asked.

‘I drove up in that Jeep.’ She pointed out a Jeep with the Government insignia and a driver. ‘The road’s a bit torn up but it’s passable.’

‘And the village?’

‘Not much damage. A few minor injuries, that’s all.’

‘Good. I need to pick up my things and get to the coast.’

‘You’re leaving? You won’t get a flight. It’s chaos at the airport.’

That meant that Miranda couldn’t leave either. ‘Just drop me at the new resort.’

‘No problem. I’m staying there myself.’

‘Fliss, the book I can forgive, but, as for the rest, I’d advise you to stick to Felipe. He’s your kind of man.’ With that, he swung himself into the Jeep and said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Manda showered, changed and, less than an hour after leaving the temple site, she was boarding a helicopter that Ivo had chartered to pick her up from the resort and fly her to a nearby island where he had a private jet waiting.

He might have stepped back a little from the twenty-four/seven world he’d once occupied, but her brother still knew how to make things happen.

The village might not have been badly hit, but the people still needed help. This had been his home for the best part of five years and Jago couldn’t just walk away.

It was a week before he finally made it on to a jet that would take him home. And the first person he saw when he walked through to arrivals was his father.

Older, a little thinner, a lot greyer. For a moment they just stood and looked at one another.

Then his father said, ‘Ivo Grenville called me. Passed on your message. Your mother…’ He stopped, unable to speak.

‘Where is she?’ he asked. Then, fear seizing him by the throat, ‘Is she ill?’

‘No, son. She stayed in the car. She knew she’d cry and she remembers how much you hate that.’

If he’d had any doubts about his promise to Miranda, they were shattered in that moment when he thought he might have left it too late.

‘My first day at school. I was telling someone about that only the other day. Miranda. Ivo Grenville’s sister.’

‘You were trapped with her, Ivo said. I met her once. She’s was a tremendous help with one of my projects.’

‘She didn’t say.’ He thought he understood why. ‘Will you call Ivo, ask him to thank her for me? For sending the message.’

His father regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I think maybe you should do that yourself.’

‘I will. Soon. But if you call, she’ll know I’ve kept my word.’

He nodded. Then, ‘Shall we go and brave the waterworks?’

‘I think perhaps I’ve finally grown up enough to handle a few tears,’ He said. And he flung an arm around his father and hugged him.

It had taken the best part of two months to finish the filming of the new documentary and it was finally in the can. Finished.

Manda sat at her desk tapping the phone with her pen. She’d promised to invite Nick to the private screening. Was it a good idea?

What they’d shared had been no more than a moment in time. A life-changing moment, a moment to cherish, but to try and carry it into everyday life…

She knew he’d seen his parents. His father had called Ivo, asked him to pass on his thanks to her, but he hadn’t called her himself even though he was back in London, no doubt working on his book. But then she hadn’t called him.

Of course she’d been busy. She’d driven all over the country with Belle and Daisy, putting the adoption documentary together.

No doubt Nick was busy, too. And presumably Fliss Grant was keeping him fully occupied out of working hours. She’d certainly dropped out of the celebrity gossip mag circuit.

Actually, despite the enthusiastic welcome Fliss had received from Nick when she’d turned up with the rescue team, Manda was a little surprised by that.

For a man who held truth in such high regard, it seemed out of character for him to forgive that kind of betrayal.

She dragged her mind back from the memory of the magical moments they’d spent at the forest pool. Maybe that was the lesson Nick had learned in those long hours they’d spent together in the dark. That life is too short. That you had to grab it with both hands, take what it offered. Move on. Looking forward, never back.

Something she was doing herself. Mostly. Not forgetting, she would never forget Nick Jago. He had given her back her life, was part of every waking moment. He always would be; it was something that made her smile rather than cry.

‘I’m leaving now, Manda,’ Daisy said, wheeling in the stroller containing her sleeping baby. ‘We’ll be at Wardour Street at eight.’

It took her a moment to readjust to the present. ‘Eight? Oh, right. What’s the final headcount?’

‘I think we’ve just about got a full house.’

‘Well, that’s great. Thank you. You’ve done a great job.’ And, glad of an excuse to put off making a decision about whether to call Nick, she dropped the pen on her desk and bent to croon over her sleeping godson.

‘Hi, Jude. You just get more gorgeous every day.’

‘Manda…’

She looked up, saw trouble. ‘What’s up?’

‘This is a bad time to tell you, but there’s never going to be a good one.’

‘What?’ Then, because she knew the answer, ‘It’s Rosie, isn’t it?’

‘You asked me to find out what happened to her.’

‘And?’

‘It’s not good, I’m afraid. You know that she was being held in a care home for assessment while they found a family who would be able to cope? Most of the couples who wanted her didn’t have the first clue about what they’d be taking on.’

None of that was relevant and she dismissed it with an impatient gesture. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she? How long?’

‘Months.’

‘And they didn’t bother to tell us?’

‘Manda…’

‘I know, I know,’ she said, waving away the jargon. She’d heard it all since she’d joined up with Belle to help raise the profile of her causes. ‘It’s none of our business. No doubt there are laws. Privacy. All that stuff…’

‘Yes, there are, but I think the real problem was that they were afraid you’d go to the press. Make them look bad. You can be a bit…well…intimidating.’

‘Really?’ She combed her hair back with her fingers. ‘I don’t mean to be. I just don’t-’

‘-suffer fools gladly. I know. If it helps, you never scared me.’

That was a fact. But then Daisy had been little more than a street brat herself. Full of lip. Terrified beneath all that front. They were total opposites and yet there had been a kind of recognition…

‘I have to find her, Daisy. I need to find her.’

‘I’ll put out the word. It’ll take time. If she doesn’t want to be found…’ She left Manda to fill in the rest. ‘I’ll catch up with you this evening at the screening.’

‘Right.’ Then, casually as she could, ‘Actually, before you go, would you see if you can find a number for Dr Nicholas Jago, at the University of London?’

‘The guy you were holed up with in that temple?’

‘Yes.’ She avoided Daisy’s gaze, picking up her pen again, making a pretence of jotting down a note. ‘We talked about the documentary and he said he’d like to see it. He was probably just being polite, but it won’t hurt to give him a call and invite him along to the screening tonight.’

‘Okay.’

‘Tell him that he’s welcome to bring a guest.’

The screening was for the network chiefs, the press, overseas buyers. After the awards they’d picked up for their first documentary, there had been considerable interest in the new film and Manda had laid on a buffet and a well stocked bar to keep the hacks happy.

She left Belle and Ivo to greet their guests-she was their ‘face’ after all-and kept herself busy with the money men. She’d positioned herself with her back to the door, determined not to be caught watching for Nick.

According to Daisy, he’d said he’d be delighted to come. But ‘delighted’ might just be being polite. Or maybe Daisy was being kind.

Neither Belle nor Daisy had said a word about the fact that she’d been trapped in the dark with a good-looking man for fifteen hours. Which suggested they suspected that the two of them had connected in some way.

Fortunately, she was still scary enough that neither of them had dared broach the subject.

Daisy hadn’t said whether he was bringing a guest and Manda didn’t ask.

‘Manda?’

She turned as Daisy touched her arm, excusing herself, gladly, from a monologue on the necessity of tax incentives for film-makers.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. I could see you were glazing over, but I’ve been thinking about Rosie. She’d go back to the places she knew. Where she felt safe. I just thought…’

‘What?’ But Daisy’s attention had been caught by something behind her and she turned to see what it was.

A man. Tall, dark, freshly barbered and shaved.

‘Nick…’ His name caught in her throat.

‘Hello, Miranda.’

Daisy waited for an introduction but she couldn’t speak and, after a moment, she said, ‘I’ll…um…go and start shepherding people through, shall I?’ Then, to herself, ‘Yes, Daisy, you do that…’

‘You look…different,’ Manda finally managed. ‘In a suit.’

‘Good different, or bad different?’

‘Good.’ In a dark bespoke suit, shirt unbuttoned at the neck, the kind of tan that was so deep it would never completely fade, he made everyone else present look stitched up, dull. No wonder Daisy had been staring…‘Not that you looked bad…’Oh, good grief. So much for walking away, not looking back, just being grateful for that one day. Sophisticated, scary Manda Grenville was behaving like a fifteen-year-old who’d just been smiled at by the hottest guy in school. ‘…before.’

‘Without a suit.’

Without any clothes at all.

She peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth, rounded up a few brain cells and finally managed a slightly hoarse, ‘How’s your shoulder?’ It wasn’t sparkling conversation, but it was safer than the pictures in her head of Nick Jago naked beneath a waterfall. Nick Jago with his mouth…

‘How are you, Miranda?’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Absolutely great. Working hard, but…great.’

‘No nightmares?’

‘No…’ No nightmares. Just hot, hot dreams…‘You?’

‘No nightmares,’ he confirmed. ‘Just dreams. Did you get my message?’

‘Ivo told me. Yes. How is it? With your family?’

‘They’ve changed. I’ve met my half-sister, too. I’ve you to thank for that.’

‘You’d have got there.’ Then the hard question. ‘Are you on your own? Didn’t Daisy tell you that you could bring someone.’

‘Why would I bring someone, Miranda,’ He said, ‘when the only person I’m interested in being with is here already?’

‘Really?’ Trying to be cool when you needed a cold shower was never easy, but she did her best, looking around the widest shoulders in the room before saying, ‘I haven’t spotted the slinky blonde.’

And finally he smiled. As if she’d just told him everything he wanted to know. Well, she had…

‘Fliss made her bed with Felipe Dominez, Miranda. I advised her to lie on it. I’d have told you that if you’d hung around for another thirty seconds.’

‘Oh.’

‘And you could have thanked her. It was down to her that the rescue services reached us so quickly.’

So Fliss Grant was in love with him, Manda thought, feeling almost sorry for the woman. If he’d loved her in return she would never have written the book…

‘Did she give you back your documents?’

It wouldn’t hurt to remind him of what she’d done.

‘There was no need. I had backup copies of everything. She knew that.’

‘Of course you did.’ Then, ‘So, here you are. Finally. It took you two months to make up my head start of thirty seconds?’

‘I got held up in the village. It was my home for nearly five years…’

‘I’m sorry, Nick. Of course you had to stay. Was it terrible?’

‘No. Just a bit of a mess. Nothing that hard work and a few dollars couldn’t fix.’

‘Money that you supplied.’

He shrugged. ‘It was nothing. I stayed for a week, made sure everything was back on track for them, that’s all.’

Far from all, she suspected…

‘And then?’

‘And then…’ He looked at her for a moment, the smallest smile creasing the corners of his mouth, his eyes. ‘And then, my dearest heart, we both had things to do. Everything happened so fast between us.’

‘Was it fast? It seemed like a lifetime, everything slowed down…’

‘Facing death, everything becomes concentrated, intense. We needed time to catch up. Time with our families. Time for work.’ He took her hand, slid his fingers through hers. ‘The future was waiting for us. We’ve finally caught up with it.’ Then, ‘Are you free after the screening? Can we have dinner? Talk?’

‘Talk? What about?’

‘Book signings. Your documentary. The fact that you knew my father and never told me. The rest of our lives.’

The rest of their lives?

She opened her mouth, closed it again.

‘The rest of our lives?’ she repeated. Then shook her head. ‘No…You can’t…’

‘I’ve spent the last two months thinking about you in every waking hour. Dreaming about you in every sleeping one. And the truth is, Miranda, I can’t not. I want to be with you. Always. Marry me.’

‘Manda? We’re about to begin.’

She looked round, realised that the room was empty apart from Daisy, who was holding the screening room door open.

‘Go ahead without me,’ she said.

‘But…’

‘I’ll catch the rerun, Daisy. Right now, I’ve got the rest of my life to plan.’

They found a small Italian bistro nearby. Manda couldn’t have said what she ate, or how it tasted, or even what they talked about. Only that they talked and laughed and that suddenly everything was in its place.

When they finally emerged into the chill of the December night, Christmas lights everywhere, Nick said, ‘How did you get here?’

‘By cab.’

‘Me too.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘We’re not likely to pick one up here at this time of night.’ He held out his elbow and she tucked her arm around his. ‘Which way?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, in no hurry to find a cab, let go of this moment. End the evening. ‘What will you do now?’ she asked as they began to walk.

‘I’ve been offered a chair at the university.’

‘Here in London?’ She thought about Cordillera. The wildness of the rainforest. A magical pool where a man and woman could pretend they were in Eden. ‘It would be very different from what you’re used to. Won’t you miss fieldwork?’

‘The aching back, the lack of basic facilities, the shortage of funding?’

‘The magic moment when you find something that’s a piece of the jigsaw,’ she prompted, not believing him for a moment. ‘That helps bring the picture of ancient lives into focus?’

He glanced at her. ‘I’d still get my hands dirty once in a while,’ He said. ‘Not in Cordillera. The structures are not safe. But we’re running other sites. And the slightly higher than average profile I’ve achieved, thanks to the earthquake, will be a big help in raising funds.’

‘So? You’re going to take it?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m waiting for the right incentive package.’

‘Oh.’ They turned into a major shopping street. A cab stopped outside a restaurant to disgorge its passengers. They ignored it. Walked on. ‘What kind of incentive would it take?’

‘I’ll know when I hear it.’ He glanced at her. ‘What about you? Where do you go from here?’

She shook her head, coming back to the real world. ‘I can’t think of anything but Rosie at the moment.’

‘The little girl you rescued?’

Manda stopped.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘She ran away, Nick. Months ago. I only found out today.’ Her breath condensed in the freezing air. ‘She’s out here somewhere, in the city.’ Then, looking around, realised where she was. ‘Oh, God. This is where we found her. Just down here.’

And she pulled away and ran down a side alley, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw the Dumpster. For one crazy moment she’d thought she be there, digging around for food.

She turned and laid her face against Nick’s coat as he caught up with her, put his arms around her.

‘She’ll die, Nick. I’ve let her down. I should have been there.’

‘Shh.’ She felt his breath against her hair as he kissed her, but she pulled away.

‘Rosie! Do you hear me?’ she called. ‘I’m not giving up on you. I’ll come back tomorrow. Search every alleyway in London if I have to, but you will not die, do you hear me?’

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Shook her head. Tears freezing on her cheeks.

‘Manda…’

‘What?’ she asked crossly, rubbing a glove across her face. Then she realised that he wasn’t looking at her but over her head and swung round, caught her breath as she saw the small, defiant figure standing glaring at them.

‘Rosie?’

‘Is he your boyfriend?’ she demanded.

Manda swallowed.

He’d said ‘the rest of our lives’ but it was too soon for anything except knowing how much she had missed him. How much she wanted him to stay. How much she loved him.

‘This is Nick, Rosie,’ she said, grabbing all of those things and putting them together. ‘He saved my life.’

‘What did he do?’

‘I was falling, down into a horrible dark place, but he held on to me even when he might have fallen too. And I’m here to hold on to you.’ She crossed to the Dumpster, put her hand on the lid. ‘Hungry?’ she asked, knowing that she was going to have to open it. Knowing that she would do anything. Then, remembering something that Belle had told her about living on the streets as a child-the one thing they’d have given anything for-she said, ‘Or maybe you’d like to come to my place and I’ll make you a bacon sandwich. With ketchup.’

‘Is your boyfriend coming?’

Nick Jago looked at this beautiful woman. He’d loved her before he’d even seen her, he realised, his heart stolen by the mixture of strength, vulnerability-something more that made her everything she was. Then, when he’d seen her, his eyes had confirmed everything his heart had already known. It was as if his entire world had been shaken to bits and then, when it had been put back together, everything had somehow fallen into place. And then she had gone, whirled away from him in a helicopter before he could say the words. Still running?

He didn’t know, but he’d given her space, given himself space for the whirlwind of feelings to be blown away.

But it hadn’t happened. Sometimes, in the darkest moment, you met your destiny and he knew, without doubt, that she was his.

‘I’m not Miranda’s boyfriend, Rosie,’ he said, moving to join her. ‘I’m the man she’s going to marry.’

And when Miranda turned to stare at him, he held her gaze, daring her to deny it. She didn’t. Her silence was all he needed and, taking off his coat, he said, ‘You know that incentive to stay in London that I was talking about?’

She just nodded as he wrapped it around the freezing child.

‘I just heard it.’

‘Rosie!’ Her room was empty. Her bed not slept in. Manda didn’t know what had woken her, only that she’d known, instantly, that Rosie had run again. She turned as Nick joined her in the bedroom doorway. ‘She’s gone, Nick.’

It had been six months. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d made it and, now that Social Services were ready to approve their adoption, she’d been certain they were through the worst. And Rosie had been so excited about being their bridesmaid.

Now, with the wedding less than a week away, she’d run again.

She turned to Nick and buried her face in his chest. ‘What now?’

‘I think she may have started taking food again,’ Nick said. ‘I thought maybe she was just a little unsettled-about staying with Daisy while we’re on our honeymoon.’

It had taken a while before she’d trusted them enough to stop taking stuff from the fridge to keep in her bag.

‘But she adores Daisy. Can’t wait to stay with her and Jude next week. I thought she was sure of us. Settled.’

There had been problems before, when they’d set the date for the wedding. She’d run away then too, afraid that they’d have babies of their own and wouldn’t want her any more.

But when Nick had told her that wasn’t going to happen, had explained that Manda couldn’t have children of her own, she’d seemed to settle.

‘Don’t panic, Miranda. She always goes back to the same place. We’ll go and pick her up and get to the bottom of this.’ Then, frowning, ‘Did you hear something?’

‘It sounded like the back door. Burglars?’

Rosie’s fiercely whispered ‘Shh…’ answered that question.

‘The kitchen?’ Nick suggested.

They opened the door. Rosie had her head in the fridge and didn’t see them. The small boy, sitting on one of the kitchen stools, almost smothered by one of Rosie’s padded jackets, leapt to his feet, knocking over a mug tree, sending crockery flying as he bolted for the door.

Nick cut him off, scooped him up, holding him easily, despite his desperate struggle. He was about five years old, his mop of black hair a matted tangle and skinny as a lath, but he had huge dark eyes and the kind of beauty that would melt hearts at twenty paces.

Nick smiled at him, tucked him up against his chest and said, ‘Who’s your friend, Rosie?’

She closed the fridge door very slowly, then turned to face them. ‘He was eating out of the bins behind the supermarket. I saw him the other day and I took him some stuff. Clothes, food. On my way to school.’

‘You should have told us,’ Manda said.

‘I thought maybe his mum would come back for him. Sometimes they just get out of their heads for a while, but then they come back. Like my mum did.’

Until, eventually, she didn’t, Manda thought.

‘But she didn’t.’ Rosie’s shrug was a mixture of defiance and pleading. ‘I waited a week and then I thought, since you can’t have kids of your own, he should come and live with us. I’ll need a brother,’ she added a little defiantly.

‘Does he have a name?’ Nick asked.

‘He’s called Michael.’

‘Rosie,’ Manda cut in as gently as she could, ‘you know it’s not that easy. I’ll have to call Social Services. He may have a family…’

‘The kind that leaves him on the street. I had family like that too.’

‘Even so.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘There are rules and stuff. But you can fix it. You and Nick can fix anything and, besides, you said it was a pity Jude wasn’t old enough to be a page-boy.’

‘So I did,’ Manda said, turning helplessly to the gorgeous man who’d swept her up in a whirlwind of love, made her a family of her own. ‘Nick? Do you have any thoughts about how we can handle this?’

He grinned and said, ‘I always think best with a bacon sandwich in front of me.’ He looked at the child in his arms. ‘Michael?’

And Manda felt Rosie’s hand creep into hers.

Five days later, Miranda Grenville and Nicholas Jago were married in a centuries-old London church that had been designed by Christopher Wren.

It was one of those rare perfect June days when, even in London, the flower-filled parks still wore the freshness of early summer.

As Miranda emerged from a vintage Rolls Royce on her brother’s arm, she paused for a moment while Belle and Daisy, her attendants, straightened the train of the simplest, most elegant ivory silk gown, giving the paparazzi time to take their photographs. This was, after all, the society wedding of the year.

Nothing could have been further from the circumstances of their meeting in Cordillera. Everything pristine, perfect.

Rosie, gorgeous in primrose and white organza, was almost beside herself with excitement. Michael, his hand clutched firmly in hers, was bemused in a tiny kilt and ruffles.

The plan had been to go back, visit their pool, light their fire but they’d put their honeymoon on hold until they’d settled Michael’s future.

‘Ready?’ Ivo asked.

She took a deep breath and said, ‘Not quite. I just wanted to say…’ She had a load of words, but in the end it came down to two. ‘Thank you.’ She didn’t have to say what for. They both knew. ‘Now I’m ready.’

Rosie and Michael led the way, scattering rose petals before them as, to the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon, Manda walked down the flower-decked aisle towards the man she loved.

She saw nothing, was aware of nothing but Nick waiting for her, his smile telling her that he thought he was the most fortunate man in the world.

Him, and the warm, spicy scent of the huge trumpet lilies entwined along the altar rail. Cordilleran lilies.

‘You had them flown in especially?’ she murmured as he took her hand.

‘We couldn’t go to Cordillera, so I brought it to us and tonight I’ll light a fire that will keep us both warm for as long as we both shall live.’