Passion & Pleasure: Savage Awakening / For Pleasure...Or Marriage? / Taken for His Pleasure

‘Amy!’

Fliss was impatient, but Matt was grateful to the child for lightening the mood. ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling a wry face. ‘But I’ll be sure and have some for next time.’

Amy beamed. ‘Colonel Phillips used to buy straws just for me,’ she said proudly. ‘Did you know Colonel Phillips? He was very old.’

‘Amy,’ Fliss said again, but Matt was happy to continue the conversation. At least with Amy there were no undercurrents; no suspicion that Fliss had only agreed to stay to prove something to herself.

‘No, I didn’t know Colonel Phillips,’ he said, wishing Fliss would sit down so he could do the same. He could feel an ache in his lumbar region, which he guessed was the result of the fall he’d taken the day before. ‘He was gone before I bought the house.’ He paused. ‘Did he let you come here with your Mummy, too?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Amy spoke airily. ‘He used to like me to come and play games with him. Board games, I mean. Draughts and ludo, that sort of thing. Oh, and he had boxes and boxes of coins and stuff. I used to like looking at them.’

‘I bet.’ Matt’s eyes moved thoughtfully to Fliss’s solemn face and then away again. What was she thinking? he wondered. That he was using the child to find out more about her? He considered. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any coins, but I do have lots of books that need sorting out. How would you like to help me this morning? We could sort them out together.’

‘It’s a fine morning,’ said Fliss at once. ‘Amy will be happy enough in the garden. You don’t have to entertain her, Mr Quinn.’

‘I know I don’t,’ said Matt, and, seeing the little girl’s disappointed face, he couldn’t help responding to it. ‘But I mean it. Amy can help me. You saw how many boxes of books there are.’

‘I’m a good reader,’ put in Amy at once. ‘Mrs Hill says I’m the best reader in my class.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Matt, with a rueful grin at Fliss. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

Fliss allowed a sigh to escape her. ‘I—of course I don’t mind, but—’

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Matt, and, deciding there was no point in being proud, he sank gratefully into a chair at the table. ‘I’ll be glad of her help, and if she gets bored she can always go outside.’

‘I won’t get bored,’ declared Amy, but Matt could see that Fliss still had her doubts.

‘If you need help…’ she began, but he shook his head.

‘She’ll be good company,’ he assured her. If only because she would stop him from dwelling on other things. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘Well, it’s very kind of you,’ Fliss said awkwardly, and he glimpsed a trace of empathy at last. She finished her coffee and put down her cup. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ She bent and gave Amy a kiss. ‘You be good now,’ she added. ‘And don’t get in Mr Quinn’s way.’

The morning passed remarkably quickly. Matt hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said that Amy would be good company. She was. She liked to talk. She chattered on about everything, from school and her family to what she’d watched on television the night before. And he discovered she wasn’t at all inhibited about the fact that she didn’t know her father.

‘He went away before I was born,’ she said matter-of-factly, spilling books, that Matt had just sorted into categories, over his desk. ‘Where do you want me to put these?’

‘Oh—just leave them where they are,’ said Matt resignedly, beginning to sort them all over again. ‘You open that box over there. You might find something interesting in it.’

Amy went to squat beside the box he’d indicated, and Matt wondered if she’d say any more about her father. But she didn’t. Instead, she used the scissors to cut the string that bound the box, and then hauled out the first of the photograph albums that were inside.

‘Is this yours?’ she asked, and Matt nodded.

‘It’s a kind of picture record of the different stories I used to report for Thames Valley News,’ he explained. ‘I thought you might find it more interesting than all these reference books.’

Amy’s eyes widened. ‘Did you used to work on television?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, wow! That’s so cool.’

‘It was just a job,’ said Matt modestly, finding her innocent admiration much more appealing than the insincere flattery he’d received from various quarters since he’d got back. All the same, he didn’t deserve it, and to divert her he bent and pointed to a man pictured in one of the stills. ‘Did you know he used to be the President of Abuqara?’

Amy stared. ‘Have you met him?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Matt’s jaw tightened and he wondered why he’d bothered to bring Abraham Adil to her attention. ‘That was why I was in Abuqara. To report on the rebellion that was trying to get rid of his administration.’

‘And did they?’ Amy asked, her interest as innocent as her praise, and Matt sighed.

‘Get rid of the government?’ And after a quick nod of assent, ‘Eventually.’ He pulled a face. ‘Unfortunately, the new government is likely to be just as corrupt.’

‘Corrupt?’ Amy frowned.

‘Bad,’ amended Matt, straightening again with an effort. ‘There are oil reserves in Abuqara and everyone wants to control them. Not always for humanitarian reasons.’

Amy clearly didn’t understand now, and he realised he shouldn’t be talking of such things to her. She didn’t understand. How could she? In her world—thank goodness—people didn’t lie and cheat and torture to gain their own ends.

‘Was it this man who put you in prison?’ she asked suddenly, and Matt caught his breath.

‘Who told you I’d been in prison?’ he demanded, feeling unexpectedly betrayed. ‘Your mother?’

Amy wouldn’t look at him now. ‘No one told me,’ she muttered, turning another page of the album and pretending to be interested in a picture of sand-dunes. ‘Is this in Abuqara, too?’

Matt sighed. ‘Amy,’ he said sternly. ‘How did you find out?’

Amy glanced at him then, her brows arched in artless enquiry.

‘How did I find out what?’

‘Amy!’

She sighed. ‘If you must know, I heard Grandad talking to Mummy,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘He was annoyed because she hadn’t told him who you were.’

Matt hesitated. ‘And do you know who I am, Amy?’

She gave a careless shrug. ‘Yes.’

‘So who am I?’

‘You’re Matthew Quinn,’ she responded at once. ‘You told me who you were.’

‘Mmm.’ Matt considered her answer. ‘I suppose I did. Not that it matters. The whole village probably knows I’ve bought this place.’

Amy’s brows drew together again. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, and he was unwillingly touched by her sincerity. ‘Are you ashamed because they put you in prison?’

‘No.’ Matt wished it were that simple.

‘So why did they put you in prison? What did you do wrong?’

Matt sighed. ‘In Abuqara, you don’t have to do anything wrong to be put in prison.’ He grimaced. ‘If you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, you don’t have a choice.’

Amy put the photograph album aside. ‘And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time?’