Читать книгу Sinful Truths - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 6

THE apartment was in one of the more expensive parts of the city. Not a high-rise, despite the many luxury apartments that were available in that kind of real estate. No, the apartment Isobel had chosen was on the upper floor of a converted Victorian townhouse, and what it lacked in modern amenities it more than made up for in style and elegance.

It didn’t surprise Jake that she had preferred the older building. Isobel came from old money, and, however straitened her circumstances, she’d rather freeze in rooms that had never been intended to be warmed by central heating than live in comfort in contemporary uniformity.

Not that it hadn’t been expensive. Jake knew exactly how expensive it had been. He should do, he reflected ironically. He’d bought it for her when they separated, and he’d held the lease on it ever since.

Jake had to park his car on the adjoining street and walk the couple of hundred yards to Eaton Crescent. It was raining, typical May weather, and he scowled as the downpour soaked the shoulders of his leather jacket. Another jacket bites the dust, he thought resignedly, wondering when he’d got used to discarding clothes like unwanted parking tickets. He should have used an umbrella. There was a golfing one in the boot of his car, put there by a grateful salesman when he’d bought the expensive vehicle. Needless to say, it had never been used.

There was a panel beside the door with the names of the various occupants of the apartments beside individual bells. It was supposed to be for security purposes, but Jake knew that persistent callers simply rang all the bells until someone was foolish enough to let them in. There was no intercom, and although at the time he’d bought it he’d expressed his doubts to Isobel, she had been indifferent to his concerns.

‘Don’t pretend you care what happens to us,’ she’d declared coldly, on their way back to the estate agent’s office, and he’d refused to take the bait.

Now, pushing back the thoughts of that ugliness, Jake pressed Isobel’s bell and waited for the door to unlatch. She knew he was coming so she could hardly pretend to be out.

He didn’t have to wait long. Almost immediately the catch was released and he pushed open the door into the hall.

Despite its rather gloomy interior, the hall smelled pleasantly of pot-pourri and furniture polish. A cleaning service kept the public halls and stairways in excellent repair, and the immediate impression was of warmth and gentility.

The door closed automatically behind him, and after brushing a careless hand over his wet hair Jake mounted the carpeted stairs two at a time. He was breathing a little heavily when he reached the second landing, and he reminded himself that he hadn’t been to the gym in a while. Sitting in front of a computer might be easier than cutting rocks, so to speak, but it was a hell of a lot less healthy.

Isobel’s door wasn’t open. He’d thought it might have been as she’d obviously let him in, but it wasn’t. Restraining the impulse to try the handle, he lifted his hand and knocked, waiting a little impatiently for her to answer.

But Isobel didn’t answer the door. Emily did. And she stood glaring at him with all the rage and resentment he’d used to expect from her mother.

‘What do you want?’

Her question took him by surprise. He’d felt sure Isobel would have discussed his visit with her. But clearly she hadn’t, and he was left having to explain to a precocious ten-year-old that her mother was expecting him.

‘Well, she’s not here,’ Emily declared with evident satisfaction. ‘So you’ll just have to come back some other time.’

Jake blinked. ‘You’re not serious,’ he said, recalling the trouble he’d had keeping this appointment in the first place. Not to mention the bitch of having to park in the next street and walk half a mile in the pouring rain.

‘Yeah, I am, actually,’ the girl responded smugly. She was obviously enjoying his frustration. She made as if to close the door again. ‘I’ll be sure and tell her you called—’

‘Wait!’ Before she could slam the door in his face, Jake wedged his foot against the jamb. He winced as the heavy wood thudded against his boot, but he held firm, and Emily was eventually forced to admit defeat.

‘Mummy’s not going to like this, you know,’ she exclaimed, tossing back her plait of dark brown hair. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

‘I can and I will,’ retorted Jake grimly. ‘Now, why don’t you stop behaving like a brat and tell your mother I’m waiting?’

‘I’ve told you, she’s not here,’ declared Emily, her voice wobbling a little now. ‘Who do you think you are, trying to force your way in here, frightening me?’

Jake had thought it would take rather more than his not unfamiliar presence to frighten Isobel’s daughter, but perhaps he was wrong. In any event, he was suddenly reminded that despite the fact that she was tall for her age—and insolent, as he knew to his cost—she was still a child, and he regretted losing his temper with her.

So all he said was, ‘I’m your mother’s husband. Now, where is she? She knew I was coming. Why the—why isn’t she here?’

Emily pursed her lips. ‘She’s at Granny’s,’ she admitted after a minute. ‘I don’t know how long she’s going to be.’

‘At your grandmother’s?’ Jake felt his temper simmering again, and determinedly tamped it down. But he should have known that Lady Hannah would have some hand in this. She had never liked him, never approved of her daughter having anything to do with him. Never accepted that without his help she wouldn’t still own that mouldering pile she called the family seat.

Now he took a deep breath. ‘You don’t mean she’s in Yorkshire, do you?’

‘No.’ Emily pouted. ‘She’s at a Granny’s flat.’

‘Right.’ At least that wasn’t a couple of hundred miles away. ‘What’s she doing there?’ he asked, proud that no evidence of his own frustration showed in his voice.

Emily shrugged her thin shoulders and he thought how like Isobel she was. Her hair was lighter, of course, and at present her childish features only hinted that one day she might possess her mother’s beauty. But she was tall and slender, and her eyes were the same luminous shade of blue.

‘Granny sent for her,’ she answered at last. Then, as if compelled to make the compromise, ‘She’s not very well.’

A curse slipped out before he could prevent it, but the only reaction Emily made was to arch her brows in a reproof that was uncannily like her grandmother’s. ‘So you’ve no idea when she’ll be back?’

Emily hesitated. ‘Well—she said she wouldn’t be long,’ she muttered unwillingly.

‘Wait a minute.’ Jake had just had a thought. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘What’s it to you?’ Emily resumed her defiant attitude. ‘I’m not a baby, you know.’

‘Maybe not.’ Jake scowled. ‘But even a ten-year-old should know better than to open the door to a stranger.’

‘Actually, I’m almost eleven,’ Emily corrected him scornfully. ‘Not that I’d expect you to remember that. You’re just my father.’

‘I am not your—’

Jake broke off abruptly. He refused to get into an argument with her about her parentage. He didn’t know why the hell Isobel had told her he was her father, unless it was her way of shifting the blame. It was certainly true that it had caused an unbreakable rift between him and her daughter. And any hope he might have had of making an ally of the child had been stymied by her lies.

‘Anyway, I knew it was you,’ Emily added carelessly. ‘I saw you out of the window.’ Her eyes surveyed him with a surprisingly adult appraisal. ‘You’re wet.’

Jake’s jaw compressed. ‘You noticed,’ he said drily, glancing down at his rain-spotted jacket. ‘Yeah, you may have observed that it’s raining.’

‘Peeing it down,’ agreed Emily, with a calculated effort to shock. ‘I s’pose you’d better come in.’

Jake hesitated. ‘Did your mother tell you I was coming?’ he demanded, suddenly sensing why she’d been looking out of the window. He wondered if it also explained Isobel’s willingness to leave her daughter alone while she travelled across London at the start of the rush hour. My God, did she expect him to stay until she got back? To act as Emily’s babysitter, no less?

‘She might have done,’ Emily responded indifferently, turning and walking away from him. She paused halfway down the hall and looked back at him. ‘Are you coming in or not?’

Or not, thought Jake savagely, glancing at the narrow gold watch on his wrist and stifling an oath. It was already after five. He’d promised Marcie he’d pick her up from her hairdresser’s in Mayfair at six. Dammit, he wasn’t going to make it.

He heard the sound of a door opening downstairs and looked hopefully over the banister. But it was only one of the other tenants, probably arriving home from work. Suppressing his anger, he stepped unwillingly into his wife’s apartment.

Emily had already taken his acceptance for granted and disappeared into a room at the end of the hall. If Jake’s memory served him correctly it was the kitchen, and, shrugging out of his wet jacket, he shouldered the outer door closed and followed her.

As he’d expected, Emily was in the kitchen, filling the kettle at the sink and plugging it in.

‘I expect you’d like some coffee,’ she said, her cool detachment reminding him again of her mother. ‘I’m afraid it’s only instant. Mummy says we can’t afford anything else.’

Jake gritted his teeth as he slung his jacket onto a vacant stool. The casual aside had really got to him. Why couldn’t they afford anything else? He’d paid Isobel enough over the years, goodness knew.

But it wasn’t something he wanted to take up with the child, and he watched from between lowered lids as Emily spooned coffee into a china mug. She was evidently used to the task. She cast a glance in his direction as she took a jug of milk from the fridge.

‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ she asked politely, and Jake blew out an exasperated breath.

‘I didn’t say I wanted anything,’ he said shortly. Then, unwillingly, ‘Ought you to be handling boiling water?’

‘Oh, please!’ Emily gave him a cynical look. ‘Don’t pretend you care what happens to me.’ The luminous blue eyes dismissed his concern. ‘And, as it happens, I’m perfectly capable of making tea or coffee. I’ve been doing it for ages.’

Jake’s jaw compressed. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ Emily braced herself against the counter, arms spread out to either side. ‘So—what do you want?’

‘Like I’m going to tell a precocious little girl like you,’ retorted Jake, resenting her tone. ‘When did your mother leave?’

Emily shrugged. ‘A little while ago.’

‘How little a while ago?’

‘I don’t know.’ She put up her hand and pulled her plait over one shoulder. ‘An hour, maybe.’

‘An hour?’

Jake felt slightly reassured. By his reckoning, it should take Isobel no more than an hour to reach the service flat in Bayswater. She’d spend—what?—maybe half an hour with her mother before coming back? Two and a half hours in all. Which meant he would be too late to pick Marcie up as he’d expected, but not too late to make their dinner engagement with the Allens.

‘You didn’t say how you liked your coffee.’

While he’d been mulling over his options the kettle had boiled and Emily had filled the mug with boiling water. ‘I—as it comes,’ he muttered, deciding there was no point in complaining now that the coffee was made. ‘Thanks,’ he added, when she pushed the mug towards him. His lips twisted. ‘Aren’t you joining me?’

‘I don’t drink coffee,’ said Emily, hesitating a moment before leading the way into the adjoining living room. ‘We might as well go in here.’

Jake arched his brows, but, picking up his jacket and his coffee, he followed her. She was right. He might as well make himself comfortable. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere until Isobel got home.

The living room was the largest room in the apartment. When Isobel had moved in she’d furnished it in a manner that suited the high ceilings and polished wood floors. Instead of modern chairs and sofas she’d chosen a pair of mahogany-framed settees and two high-backed armchairs upholstered in burgundy velvet. There were several occasional tables and a carved oak cabinet containing the china and silverware her mother had given them as a wedding present. A tall bookcase, crammed with books, flanked the Adam-style fireplace, where Isobel’s only concession to the twenty-first century smouldered behind a glass screen. But an open fire would have been too dangerous with a young child in the apartment, and the gas replacement was very convincing.

Long velvet curtains hung at the broad bay windows, their dark rose colour faded to a muted shade. The huge rug that occupied the centre of the floor was faded, too, and Jake wondered if that was a deliberate choice. Goodness knew, with the money he paid her every month—and her job—she shouldn’t be hard up.

But as he looked about him he noticed there were definite signs of wear and tear about the place. The cabinets were in need of attention and the polished floor was scuffed. Was Isobel finding it too much, juggling a job and looking after her home and family?

Determined not to feel in any way responsible for Isobel’s problems, Jake draped his jacket over the back of a chair. Then, lounging onto one of the sofas, he hooked an ankle across his knee. The coffee was too hot to drink at present, so he set the mug on the floor beside him.

He should have known better, he reflected, as Emily hustled across the room to set an end table beside him. She placed a coaster on it and bent to pick up his mug, but he forestalled her. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, containing his impatience. ‘You can go and do your homework or whatever it is you usually do at this time of the afternoon.’

But Emily apparently had no intention of leaving him on his own. ‘I can do my homework later,’ she said, seating herself in the armchair across the hearth from him. ‘I’ve got plenty of time.’

But I haven’t, thought Jake drily, regarding the girl through exasperated eyes. She was certainly Isobel’s daughter, he reflected, noticing the way she sat with her back straight, her knees demurely drawn together. Or perhaps that was a result of her grandmother’s teaching. The old lady had certainly influenced Isobel. Why shouldn’t she influence her granddaughter, too?

At least his scrutiny appeared to be getting through to her. She was still wearing the grey skirt, white blouse and dark green cardigan she wore for school, and now she averted her eyes, poking a finger through one of the buttonholes on the cardigan. Was she nervous of him? he wondered, feeling a reluctant trace of sympathy at the thought. Dammit, what lies had Isobel told her about him?

‘So,’ he said, feeling obliged to say something, ‘what’s wrong with your grandma?’

‘Granny’s not well,’ she repeated, not too nervous to take the opportunity to correct him. ‘I told you that.’

‘Yeah, but what’s wrong with her?’ asked Jake shortly. ‘Do you know?’

Emily compressed her small mouth. ‘I think—I think it’s something to do with her heart,’ she responded at last. Then, with more confidence, ‘She had an operation last year.’

‘Did she?’

Jake frowned. Isobel had told him nothing about that. But then, why would she? They hardly ever saw one another these days.

‘You don’t like Granny, do you?’ Emily remarked suddenly, and Jake caught his breath.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You don’t like Granny,’ Emily reiterated blandly. ‘She says you never did.’

‘Does she?’ Jake was aware of an anger out of all proportion to the offence. ‘Well, she’d know, I suppose.’

‘Why?’ Emily arched enquiring eyebrows and Jake sighed.

‘I guess because she never liked me,’ he replied after a moment’s consideration. Why shouldn’t he defend himself? The old girl had had it her own way long enough. ‘I dare say she didn’t tell you that.’

‘No.’ Emily looked doubtful. ‘Is that why you don’t live with us any more?’

‘No!’ Jake knew he sounded resentful and he quickly modified his tone. ‘Look, why don’t you go and watch TV or something? I’ve got some calls to make.’

Emily frowned. ‘What calls?’

‘Phone calls,’ said Jake shortly, getting to his feet and pulling his cellphone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Do you mind?’

‘I don’t mind.’ Emily shook her head. ‘Who are you going to call?’

My mistress?

Jake tried the answer on for size and instantly rejected it. His quarrel had never been with the child, after all. She was the innocent victim here and he had no desire to hurt her.

‘A friend,’ he said instead, sitting down again. ‘No one you know.’

‘A woman-friend?’

Emily was persistent, and once again Jake had to guard his tongue.

‘Does it matter?’ he asked, maintaining a neutral tone with an effort. He paused significantly. ‘Can I have a little privacy here?’

‘May I have a little privacy,’ Emily corrected him primly. ‘Granny says you keep beans in cans.’

Granny had far too much to say for herself, thought Jake savagely. But he was relieved when Emily got to her feet and started towards to the door.

‘I’ll go and see what we’re having for supper,’ she said with evident reluctance. ‘It’s probably going be late when Mummy gets back.’

Jake opened his mouth to say it had better not be, and then closed it again. Emily had left the room in any case. Besides, he was half convinced she’d only been baiting him. For a ten—almost eleven—year-old, she was remarkably mature.

Marcie sounded less than pleased when she came on the line. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be late. Honestly, Jake, I thought you said it wouldn’t take long.’

Jake sighed. He could hear the sounds of the hair salon in the background: the constant buzz of voices, the hum of the driers, the subtle Muzak that was supposed to relax the clients.

‘There’s been a complication,’ he said, hoping she could hear him. ‘Isobel’s not here.’

‘She’s not there?’ Obviously she could hear him loud and clear. ‘So what’s the problem? You’ll have to see her some other time.’

‘No, I can’t. That is—’ Jake knew it wasn’t going to be easy convincing her that he had to stay. ‘Emily’s here.’

‘The kid?’

‘Isobel’s daughter, yes.’ Jake didn’t really like the dismissive way Marcie had spoken of her. ‘She’s on her own.’

‘So?’

‘So I’ve got to stay until her mother gets back,’ said Jake evenly. ‘You’d better order a cab to take you home from the salon.’

‘No!’ Marcie sounded furious. ‘Jake, do you have any idea how difficult it is to order a cab at this time of the evening?’

‘I know.’ Jake blew out a weary breath. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do.’

‘There is something you can do,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You can leave your wife’s bastard on her own and get over here and pick me up like you promised.’

‘Don’t call her that!’ Jake couldn’t prevent the automatic reproof. ‘For God’s sake, Marcie, she’s not to blame because Isobel’s gone to her mother’s.’

‘And nor am I,’ responded Marcie grimly. ‘Come on, Jake, you know she’s trying it on. She probably guessed how you’d feel when you found—Emily—on her own.’

‘She didn’t have a lot of choice,’ said Jake, wondering why he was defending his wife to his girlfriend. ‘The old lady’s ill, apparently. I guess it could be her heart.’

‘My heart bleeds.’ Marcie snorted, but then, as if realising how unsympathetic she sounded, she took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she said, capitulating, ‘I’ll take a cab home. And you’ll pick me up in—what? An hour and a half?’

‘Something like that,’ agreed Jake, glancing at his watch. Surely Isobel would be back by half-past six.

‘You haven’t forgotten we’re going out this evening, have you, Jake?’ Marcie had heard the unspoken doubt in his voice and reacted to it. ‘You’ll need at least an hour to shower and change.’

‘I know that.’ Jake was beginning to feel harassed. ‘Back off, will you, Marcie? I’ll be there.’

‘Oh, Jake.’ Marcie groaned. ‘I’m sorry if I sound like a bitch. I’ve just been looking forward to this evening so much. I haven’t spent the best part of the day in the beauty salon to have—well, to have Isobel spoil it.’

‘She won’t spoil it. I promise.’ Jake hoped he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. ‘Gotta go now. I’ll see you later.’

He didn’t give her a chance to argue. Out of the corner of his eye he’d glimpsed Emily hovering just beyond the doorway into the kitchen, and he had no intention of providing her with any juicy gossip to relay to her mother.

As soon as he’d flipped the phone closed she showed herself, however. ‘Finished?’ she asked, and he nodded, wondering if he was being naïve in thinking she hadn’t been listening all along.

But it was too late to do anything about it now and, picking up his coffee, he took a grateful gulp. Thankfully, it was cool enough to drink, and surprisingly good besides. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she’d done it before.

‘Would you like some more?’ she asked as he set down the empty mug, but Jake declined.

‘Not right now,’ he said, and as she turned away to return the mug to the kitchen he found himself watching her with a curiously critical eye.

In her school uniform, she could have been any one of the hundred or so children who attended the Lady Stafford Middle School. But, despite himself, Jake knew he’d have no difficulty in picking her out of a crowd. Although he’d only seen her a handful of times in the past ten years, he’d have recognised her anywhere, and if it hadn’t been so annoying it would have been pathetic.

Dammit, she wasn’t his daughter. She had never been his daughter, and if Isobel hadn’t been so hell-bent on lying to her, he and the child might well have achieved a friendly relationship. As it was, Emily hated him and he resented her.

She came back then, resuming her seat opposite him, and rather than suffer the discomfort of another prolonged appraisal Jake chose another tack.

‘So, what do you do in your spare time?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Do you have a computer?’

‘Of course I have a computer. Everybody does.’

Emily was scathing, and Jake tried again. ‘How about computer games?’ he suggested. ‘I’m pretty good at them myself.’

‘You play computer games?’

She couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice, and Jake felt an unwilling sense of indignation. Evidently Isobel had been selective in choosing what information to give the child, and he would enjoy exploding her bubble.

‘I invent them,’ he said flatly. ‘Among other things. Didn’t your mother tell you?’

‘No.’ There was a reluctant glimmer of interest in Emily’s eyes. ‘What games have you invented?’

Jake frowned, pretending to think. ‘Let me see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Have you heard of Moonraider? Space Spirals? Black Knights?’

Emily’s jaw had dropped. ‘You invented Black Knights?’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Jake shrugged. ‘You’ve played it, then?’

‘Yes. Yes.’ Emily glanced over her shoulder. ‘Mummy bought me a Dreambox for Christmas.’

Jake pulled a wry face. ‘That was good of her.’

‘Why? Oh, God!’ Emily pressed both hands to her cheeks. ‘Did you invent Dreambox?’

‘I own Dreambox,’ Jake told her ruefully. ‘And I don’t think your mother would approve of you saying “Oh, God”, do you?’

‘Granny would report me to Father Joseph,’ agreed Emily, pulling a face. ‘I’d probably have to say a hundred Hail Marys for taking the Lord’s name in vain. But still—’ She stared at him admiringly. ‘You own Dreambox! Cool!’

Jake was surprised at how flattered he was by her reaction. She was only a child, but the hero-worship in her eyes felt good. He was genuinely pleased that she approved of him. It made him want to go out and buy her every game he’d marketed to date.

‘You wouldn’t—like—play Black Knights with me?’ she suggested suddenly. ‘Just till Mummy gets back, I mean. It would give us something to do.’

Jake hesitated. He had the feeling Isobel would not approve of this development. Okay, maybe she’d had some crazy idea that if she threw him and Emily together he might change his mind about her. But the arrangement had to be on her terms, not his.

To hell with that!

Looking at the girl’s expectant face, he made a gesture of acceptance. ‘Why not?’ he said, getting to his feet again. ‘Where’s your computer? In your room?’

Some time later, when Jake’s cellphone began to ring, he was shocked to find it was nearly seven o’clock. He’d been so absorbed in the game, which he’d discovered Emily played extremely well, that he’d forgotten the time. Dodging witches and goblins, vaulting over chasms where dragons lurked, laughing at the obstacles someone’s vivid imagination had created, he’d realised how much fun it was to play with someone who genuinely wanted to beat him. Apart from his second-in-command at McCabe Tectonics, everyone else he employed seemed keener on winning his approval than winning the game.

With a word of apology to the child, he strode back into the living room, where he’d left the phone, and glanced at the small screen with some misgivings. As he’d expected, it was Marcie’s number displayed there and she wasn’t pleased. ‘Where are you?’ she demanded. ‘I thought you were picking me up at seven o’clock.’

‘Seven-thirty,’ he amended, not knowing why he’d bothered making the distinction. Even if he left now, he wasn’t going to make it.

‘Okay, half-past seven,’ she conceded irritably. ‘So, are you on your way? I know you’re not at the house. I already tried there.’

Right.

Jake expelled a weary breath, and as he did so he heard the sound of Isobel’s key in the lock.

Well, it had to be Isobel, he mused blackly, aware that she couldn’t have chosen a more awkward time to return. Here he was, trying to placate his girlfriend, with his wife as an unwilling audience.