By Anne Mather
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He had pulled off the motorway and attempted to apologise, to comfort her, but she had lost her head. She had been like a little tigress, he remembered unwillingly, beating at him with her fists until he had been forced to get out of the car and leave her. He had known that, if he had stayed where he was, he might have been tempted to subdue her in a way that would have been totally unforgivable. As it was, when he got into the car again, she had been red-eyed and silent, and for the remainder of the day he had not been able to get a word out of her.
The line went dead as the receptionist went to check the computer, and Ben endeavoured to recover his earlier calm. What price now his mood of complacency? he reflected somewhat irritably. A note from Cassandra, and he was as tense as a violin string. It seemed to take an inordinately long period of time for the hotel receptionist to find out what he wanted to know. By the time she came back on the line, Ben's long fingers were drumming an impatient tattoo on the scratched surface of his desk, and his previous feeling of well-being had completely dissipated.
I need to explain the situation. Then I'll tell you whether she's prepared to let you stay. ' Cass bent her head. ' Ben made a move as if to come back to her, and then seemed to think better of it. 'Cass, I meant what I said last night. I'm not going to force you to go back to England. Just give me a little time. ' Cass lifted her head again. 'You—you could telephone,' she ventured, but Ben shook his head. 'It's better if I go and see her,' he replied. 'Remember, I've been away for the past two months.