Guilty Love (Completed)

Chapter Five

"I love you, Barty," she whispered into the silent, and heard him sigh. "It would have been better for you kid, if I had died, though," he said flatly, and she let out a shaky sigh of her own, careful not to let him hear it. "No, darling, it wouldn't, it wouldn't... I need you," she said quickly, and he almost laughed, she sound a low grunt, bitterly humorous. "God knows what for!" Then his voice changed, was offhand but softer. "But thanks, honey. You know I need you. Always have, always will. I got the best of the bargain when we made our wedding vows. I'm afraid you didn't have the same luck. I'm sorry I blew my top, I never mean to, the black dog just bites and....," "I know," she said gently, "I know, Barty. It doesn't matter."

"It damned well does," he said in another brief spurt of rage. "I hate myself for what I put you through. Look, I'll work late myself, and eat sandwiches at my bench." "Don't give yourself a headache. You know it isn't good for you to spend too long in front of your VDU." "Yes, mummy, and the same to you," he said, trying to be funny. "And don't let that bastard Calhoun keep you slaving in front of a hot computer all evening. See you when you do get home. I'll be waiting up with some hot cocoa." She blew him a kiss, her mouth tremulous. "Love you." "I don't deserve you, but I do love you," he said, his voice raw with feeling, then he hung up.

Linzi put the phone down and put her head down on her desk, shaking. That had been a bad moment. For a minute she had thought she wasn't going to be able to stop him going over the edge. She would have given notice and left this job if she had thought it would make any differences, but by the time she started to work here she'd already known the score. Barty was seeing various specialists, who had all told Linzi the same thing, nothing she did was really triggering Barty's abnormal reactions. It wouldn't help if she stopped working here, except for a day or two. Then he would find something else to blame her for. His dangerous swings of mood were all the result of what had happened to him during the accident, and afterwards. No matter how she tried to please and placate him, those mood swings would occur, and during the bad times he would blame her and resent her.

The most she could do to help him was be patient, deal with each moment as it hit her, and if Barty did become violent try to persuade him to take the medication his doctors provided, before he lost control altogether. So far she had always been able to do that. She hoped to God they never reached that stage. His doctors didn't seem to sure whether he would improve or deteriorate. Sometimes Linzi felt so tired that she no longer eared, but she had care. Barty needed her to care. Once he had been the strong one, taking care of her. Now it was her turn to take care of Barty.

She lifted her head and sniffed, fumbled for a tissue from the box she kept in one of the desk drawers, wiped her face, her wet eyes, blew her nose. The door heading to Ritchie Calhoun's office opened suddenly, and he strode in, stopping dead as he saw her face before she could avert it and hide the tearstains. He frowned across the room at her. "What's wrong?" "Nothing, I'm fine. I think I'm starting a cold!" she evaded, tossing the used tissue into her waste-paper basket.

He stood there watching her, inconvinced, his black brows drawn together over those piercing grey eyes of his which saw too clearly. "What did your husband say when you told him you were working late?" he asked, his tone making it obvious that he had put two and two together very acurately and didn't like the answer. She wished he would mind his own business. He always had, until now. He had never asked so many questions before. Why was he doing it now? "He's going to get himself a sandwich." His mouth twisted. "Sure he can manage that?" "Don't be sarcastic!" He gave her a suprised look and Linzi looked back, bristling, yet suprised by herself. She couldn't remember ever snapping at him before. Drily Ritchie said, "My mother brought me up to take care of myself, and anyone else who happens to come along! She used to say to me that one day my wife would thank her, but as it turned out I never got around to matrimony before she died, so she never got her thank-you. But I supppose that's why men who expect their wives to wait on them hand and foot annoy me."

"Was your mother anything like you?" Linzi asked curiously, and he gave her a sudden blindingly vivid smile, which astonished her. This really was a day for firsts! He had never given her a smile like that, anymore than he had ever asked so many questions about her private life before. "I'd like to be able to say yes," he murmured with wry amusement. "But to be honest I don't think so. I gather I take after my father's side of the family. My mother was a small woman, with very straight, fine fair hair and..," His voice breaking off, he stared at Linzi fixedly for a moment while she stared back, her blue eyes wide in puzzlement. "Yes?" she prompted. "She looked something like you," Ritchie said slowly. "It didn't dawn on me until just now, but it's true. She had your build and colouring."

Maybe that was why he had decided on impulse to pick Linzi for his secretary although his common sense had told him that she was too young and too attractive? he thought. She had fitted some subterranean blueprint in his mind. Linzi was startled. "Really?" rather flattered, she smiled, her small face lighting up, and Ritchie blinked. "When you smile you look quite different," he said and she looked up at him, her blue eyes wide open. He smiled down at her, the hardness of his features softening into charm, and she said slowly, "So do you." And then an icy shiver ran down her back. Ritchie immediately picked up on her abrupt change of mood. "What is it now?" he asked with a touch of his usual impatience. "Nothing," she said huskily. "Just a ghost walking over my grave."

**Seriously Lin, a ghost.. ? Hahahahaha.. Until the next chapter..