Catherine George - Sarahs secret

T HE sky was ominous with the threat of approaching storm, but Sarah finally gave up trying to find a taxi during Friday rush hour and began hurrying at top speed through the dark, sultry afternoon. Hot and breathless, she was almost in sight of home when a curtain of rain poured from the heavens as though someone had thrown a switch. Lightning sizzled to earth almost at her feet, thunder cracked directly overhead, and with a scream she raced, panicking, through the alley that led to Campden Road. Drenched to the skin, she shot from the alley like a cork from a bottle and flew across the road through the downpour, straight into the path of a car. With a squeal of brakes the car slewed sharply to avoid her, but the front wing of the car caught her a light, glancing blow which sent her sprawling on hands and knees. Shaken and furious, she scrambled to her feet, shrugging off urgent hands which hauled her back on the pavement.

Are you all right? Where the hell did you spring from? yelled the stranger above another clap of thunder.

Of course Im not all right, you stupid idiot! She glared up at a wet male face haggard with shock. Cant you look where youre going?

I was looking, he flung at her. For which you can thank your lucky stars, lady. If my reactions had been slower things could have been a sight worse. You came out of nowhere!

I did not . I was just crossing the road.

You mean you shot across without looking.

Look here, Im the injured party, she retorted furiously, then bit back a scream, her teeth chattering as lightning forked down again close by, followed by another crack of thunder.

The man seized her arm. Youre in shock. And soaked to the skin. Get in the car. Ill drive you to the hospital

The way you drive? Not a chance! Sarah pulled free so viciously her head swam as she bent to retrieve her scattered belongings, and the man caught her by the shoulders to hold her steady for a moment before bending to help her. Their heads banged together, she recoiled with a yelp, and with a muttered apology he handed over a bunch of keys, frowning when she winced as she took them.

You are hurt. He seized one of her hands, where the rain was sluicing grit and blood from a scrape, but Sarah snatched it away, horribly conscious, now, of hair dripping round her face in rats tails, and blouse soaked to a transparency the man had obviously noticed. Colour flooded her face.

Its only a scratch. Ill live, she snapped. Which is no thanks to you.

If you wont go to a hospital at least let me drive you home.

No. I am home. I live over there, she shouted as thunder boomed around them.

Then Ill get you there in one piece. Ignoring her protests, he took her briefcase, grasped her by the elbow and hurried her across the road through the sheeting rain.

I should take you to a hospital, he insisted, but Sarah shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes as he handed over the briefcase.

Unnecessary.

Is there someone inside to take care of you?

Yes, there is. You can go now. Sarah unlocked the front door of one of the tall Victorian houses lining the road, muttered a word of ungracious thanks, went inside, and slammed the door. She dumped her bags down in the gloomy hall, knees trembling as reaction hit her, but unmoved now when thunder cracked overhead. She was safe.

Good heavens, just look at you, said her grandmother, hurrying downstairs. Youre soaked to the skin. She frowned as she saw Sarahs knees. What happened? Did you fall?

Sarah made light of her wounds and went to the bathroom to get her sodden clothes off. She mopped at her grazes, then returned to the kitchen, wrapped in a towelling dressing gown. She sat down at the table, surprised but grateful to find tea waiting for her, and rubbed at her wet hair with a sleeve while she gave an account of her adventure.

You should go to the police! said Margaret Parker severely. You could have been badly injured. I suppose it was the usual boy racer taking a shortcut to the town centre?

Not this time. It was a very angry adult of the species, who insisted I was to blame.

And were you?

Certainly not! Sarah met her grandmothers eyes, then shrugged. Well, yes, I suppose I was, really. I was in my usual panic, so I didnt look properly before crossing the road.

You really must try to control your irrational fear of storms, you know.

Not entirely irrational, said Sarah quietly.

Margaret Parker backed down at once. Was the man objectionable?

Not exactly. But he was steamingly angry. Once he knew I was in one piece he obviously wanted to shake the living daylights out of me.

Typical male! What sort of age was he?

No idea. We were both soaked to the skin, and I didnt have my contacts in, so one way and another my powers of observation were on the blink. Sarah eyed the rain streaming down the window. Good thing I dont have to drive through this to collect Davy today.

But youre going to the theatre tonight, Margaret reminded her.

Heavens, so I am. Sarah groaned, then shook her head wearily. I just cant face it tonight, peeved though Brian will be. If I ring him now Ill catch him before he leaves the office.

Surely youll feel better by this evening? said her grandmother disapprovingly. Brian wont be happy if you let him down at the last minute.

Im sure hell understand if I explain. Sarah heaved herself up from the table to peer through the window. The storms moving away a bit, so I think Ill soak my wounds in a hot bath. I feel a bit shivery.

Reaction. It will soon wear off. Was the man hurt, by the way?

No idea. But serve him right if he was!

Margaret raised an eyebrow. I thought you were to blame?

I was. Sarah smiled wryly. Which is so aggravating . I want someone else to blame. Preferably him.

When Sarah rang Brian Collins his reaction was just as predicted.

Sarah, you do realise that I had the devil of a job to get tickets? he demanded irritably, then climbed down a little. Though Im sorry youre feeling unwell, of course.

And Im sorry to cancel at the last minute. But there must be someone else you can take, Brian?