No More Lonely Nights Read Free Page A

coincidence,’ Annette murmured, staring out of the window, chewing on her lower lip. Her voice was abstracted—had she really heard? Sian wondered, preparing to repeat her admission.
    Annette broke in on her before she could get another word out. ‘Oh, look,’ she said, pointing. ‘A telephone.’
    They were passing through a small village street; the telephone was outside a shop and Sian pulled up just beyond it. Annette sat, staring, her pale face a battleground.
    ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘He might come to the phone. I couldn’t talk to him, really. He’s so… sometimes Cass scares me, he’s like lightning—you know the way it seems to be tearing the sky up? Blinding light, and a terrible violence. Cass is like that. He can be very polite and sweet, but underneath you always feel there’s this possible violence. Rick’s ordinary, like me, we suit each other because we’re the same. Rick isn’t rich, you know, he’s a salesman. He used to work for Cass, but he left when… when he walked out on me. He could see Cass liked me, at once.’ She turned big, puzzled eyes on Sian. ‘Why does he, though? I’ve never been able to understand that. Why does he want me? I’m not from his sort of class. And he’s had so many really beautiful women in his life. He didn’t marry any of them—so why me?’
    ‘It isn’t his feelings that matter, it’s yours,’ Sian said patiently. ‘So why don’t you just ring your home and tell your Dad? Or ring the church and tell the Vicar? You must do something, Annette. You can’t leave them all in a state of utter ignorance. They might get the police.’
    ‘The police?’ Annette looked horrified. ‘I never thought…’
    ‘I can see you didn’t, but it’s time you did. Go and ring. Put their minds at rest.’
    Annette got out of the car slowly, then stayed there, wringing her hands in a frantic way. ‘I can’t talk to them,’ she wailed, looking at Sian pleadingly. ‘I’m so scared. They’ll be so angry. They’ll shout. Cass…no, I couldn’t talk to Cass. And Dad… he might cry, that would be worse. He’ll be so upset, and Cass will be so angry. I can’t do it. Please, Sian.’
    Sian didn’t get it for a second, then she shook her head with vehemence. ‘Oh, no, I’m not doing it for you. This is up to you. You got yourself into this muddle, you should get yourself out. You must handle your own life, Annette, and now is a good time to start.’
    She might have saved her breath. Annette got back into the car and cried, and Sian began to see that under that helpless exterior there was something tenacious: a weakness that was a sort of strength because it made other people take control of her life for her, and saved her the trouble. Annette was used to that—expected it, probably demanded it. Was that why William Cassidy proposed to her?
    ‘What time was the wedding?’ Sian asked in the end, looking at her watch.
    ‘Eleven-thirty,’ said Annette, and Sian’s eyes widened. It was still only eleven-fifteen; she had somehow believed that Annette had run away just seconds before the wedding began.
    ‘OK, where do I ring?’ she asked, and Annette told her the name of the church. She didn’t know the number, but Sian got it from directory enquiries. First, though, she rang her paper and spoke to Leo, who was at once excited.
    ‘You aren’t kidding?’
    ‘Now why should I?’
    ‘She ran out of the forest right under your car? In all her bridal get-up? Would you credit it?’ He laughed and Sian made a face he couldn’t see. Typical of a man, not to mention an editor. Leo was over-sophisticated, cynical. He wasn’t here; he couldn’t see Annette’s face. Annette wasn’t real to him, none of the stories they printed were; they were just journalistic fiction unattached to real human beings.
    ‘She’s an unhappy girl,’ Sian told him. There was real blood in Annette’s veins, real tears on her cheeks.
    ‘Poor kid,’ said Leo. ‘I’ll