Read A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) for Free Online

meaning.” Pat had finished his cigar, “It would be better if you get him and her back to the States and keep them there.”
    Larry gave a little laugh, these Irish, so dramatic. Unsmiling, Pat ground the cigar underfoot.
    “Pick up your stubs,” Joyce called from the hallway, bustling into the drawing room, decanter in hand.
    Pat slapped Larry on the back, “Do as you’re told, there’s a good man,” he said and went back into the house.
    Despite being dog-tired, Larry did not sleep well. He twisted and turned until he woke with a start, sitting bolt upright, sweat trickling from his chest to his stomach. He had been dreaming of the scene in The Godfather , a man wakes up covered in blood to find his favourite horse has been decapitated, the severed head placed beneath the sheets.
     Larry shuddered, snapping on the bedside light. The reassuring glow cast soft shadows across Joyce’s opulent drapes and cushions, helping to calm him. He reached into the drawer for his nebuliser, willing his heart to still as he breathed in the soothing steroid. He could hear the wind howling through the trees, rain beating against the window. No wonder he could not sleep: Mimi had forgotten to pack his ear plugs, and the weather in this country was so damn noisy, it sounded like someone was beating against the pane.
    He pulled the covers over his head and closed his eyes. All was still and then another sound: the door opening. Someone entered the room. Larry froze. They came, across the floor, to the bed. He felt warm breath at his ear. He was terrified, convinced he was going to die, be killed stone dead, right here, right now...
     “Are you asleep, Larry?” a voice hissed. He did not answer. Maybe they would go away. “Larry, are you asleep?”
    He recognised the voice and drew the covers back slowly. Kathleen MacReady was nose-to-nose. His eyes swept over her, and once assured she was brandishing neither cut-throat razor nor horse’s head, he released a breath.
    “Not now I’m not,” he said, sliding upwards, clasping sheets to his chest. Uninvited, Miss MacReady sat on the bed, her red satin dressing gown splayed out around her, bringing the vividness of his blood-soaked dream to life.
    “You called out. I was just checking,” she smiled. The poor man was clearly disturbed, his face snow-white, eyes shot with red.
    She patted his arm. “Bad dream?”
    Larry nodded. Miss MacReady poured water from the jug on the side. She handed it to him. He could smell perfume. She was wearing lipstick. Her ruby nails matched her gown. It slipped from her thigh. He could see stocking-tops. He swallowed.
    “Can I get you anything, any medication?” Miss MacReady knew all about these New Yorkers, uppers for this, downers for that.
    “No, no,” Larry tapped the nebuliser.
    “Asthmatic?” she asked.
    Larry nodded.
    “I wouldn’t have thought New York smog and all that air conditioning would be any help at all. A bit of mountain air, some ions off the sea, that’s what you need. You do look bit peaky, if you don’t mind my saying.” Although Larry always welcomed discussion of health-related issues, he was in no mood for even this topic at three in the morning.
    “Can I get you a drink - a hot whiskey, milk with a drop of rum in it, Horlicks?” she offered. He shook his head at each suggestion. “Very well,” she said, moving around the bed, tucking him in as if he were a child, moving his glass so he could reach it easily. He watched her warily. She knew stuff. He needed to keep her close, on side.
    “Thank you, Kathleen,” he said, his voice small and tight, “just a dream, I’m not a good traveller.”
    She tutted, “Sure, I know that. Isn’t that why I came to meet you? Silly man, family’s family around these parts.”
    Larry gave her a quizzical look. Surely Miss MacReady had enough family, she seemed related to everyone he met.
    “You do seem troubled though, Larry, something more than just the Ryan debacle,