Читать книгу A Little Secret between Friends - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 8

“BE CAREFUL with that knife, Sal. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

Sally Stowe froze. The unexpected sound of her ex-husband’s voice had a similar effect to a steel blade running lightly down her spine.

Keeping her back to him, she resumed chopping the red pepper with precise, measured slices. She took a beat to catch her breath, then said coolly, “We have this custom in North America, Neil. It’s called knocking before you enter a home that isn’t your own.”

Though her exterior was unruffled—she hoped!—her mind raced. Why was Neil here? He knew Lara was on a birthday sleepover party tonight. Sally had learned long ago to get his permission for every single thing Lara did. If she so much as booked a dentist appointment without his approval, Neil would turn ballistic.

“The door was unlocked.”

As if that were an excuse. Still, it was a good reminder to be more careful. Sally crouched to reassure the six-month-old puppy whining anxiously at her feet—the cause of the unlocked door. He needed to go out so often she’d become lazy with the dead bolt, which would only engage if you aligned the door just shy of fully closed.

“It’s okay, Armani.” She gave the mutt a scratch behind his ears, then patted him on the side gently.

Strangers—and Neil—made the poor thing nervous.

In his most scornful voice, Neil said, “Armani? Who calls a dog after a fashion designer, for God’s sake?”

Still avoiding eye contact with him, Sally did her best to answer calmly. “Your daughter.” And he, of all people, ought to know why. He was the one who had fostered Lara’s taste for expensive, designer clothing—although even Neil drew the line at Armani, fortunately.

“Well, the dog’s black, at least.”

Yes. And with the patch of white on his chest, he looked a little like he was wearing a tux. But Sally didn’t share that piece of trivia with Neil. She shared nothing with her ex-husband that wasn’t required in their joint-custody agreement.

An agreement that she, as a lawyer, understood inside and out. Neil, also a lawyer, knew the agreement equally well, since he had drafted it.

As Sally went to the sink to rinse her hands, she glanced out the window at the thawing April landscape. The grass was still brown, but there would be pussy willows soon. Chunks of ice were breaking up in the river that bordered the western edge of her property.

She’d moved here, to the Elbow Valley community on the outskirts of Calgary, two years ago when Lara had turned fourteen. Sally was determined to keep her young teenager away from the influences of shopping malls, corner stores and video arcades, where Sally knew trouble could be found as easily as a super-size Slurpee.

Their stone-faced bungalow was one of the smaller homes in the estate neighborhood, but it sat on a full acre of land, backing onto the Elbow River. Sally reveled in the fact that they weren’t even considered part of the city of Calgary, though she was only a twenty-five minute commute from the office.

The country setting was perfect, but the isolation did make her nervous at times, which was why she’d finally given in to Lara’s desire for a dog. Hopefully one day Armani would develop some guarding instincts. The woman at the animal shelter had been sure he was mostly border collie, a breed known to be both protective and gentle with children.

Sally turned off the water and moved to the stove, situated on the island at the center of the kitchen. She unhooked the wok from the overhead rack and settled it on the front burner. After twisting the knob to high heat, she finally lifted her head to acknowledge Neil’s presence.

Her ex-husband still stood near the door. The family room lay to his left, the kitchen to the right. “Are you going to invite me in, Sal? Looks like you have enough food for two.”

He was right about the food. Out of habit she’d prepared enough for Lara, as well, even though her daughter was out. But if she had food for twenty, she’d never invite Neil to her table.

“What do you want? Did you forget Lara is sleeping over at Jessica’s tonight?”

“Can’t a man stop by for a friendly visit with his ex-wife?” Neil smiled, managing to look boyishly attractive, even though, like her, he’d passed forty.

He was a debonair man, her ex-husband. Medium height, slender, he wore a suit really well. His hair was dark and thick, and the lingering trace of his English accent added to his misleading appeal.

“But actually, I’ve brought over Lara’s passport application papers for you to sign.” He placed them, plus his silver pen, the one she’d given him for Christmas on Lara’s behalf, on the island.

Sally leaned over and pulled the documents closer. Neil’s father, who had worked in investment banking, had brought his family to Canada for the two years he’d been stationed to work in Calgary. When the upper executive had had a massive heart attack and died, Neil’s mother had returned to Kent. Neil, who’d been accepted to law school at the University of Alberta, had remained.

This summer Neil planned to take Lara to visit his mother. Sally hated the idea of their daughter making an overseas trip without her, but she couldn’t deny Lara the chance to get to know her one surviving grandparent.

She executed the distinctive loop at the end of Stowe, then dropped the pen. “There.”

Neil folded the pages and stuffed them into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I see you’ve poured yourself a glass of wine. Drinking alone, Sal?”

The open bottle sat on the counter behind her, next to the cutting board with the diced chicken, peppers and onions. But Sally ignored both it and Neil’s question. She’d given him what he wanted. It was time for him to leave. To her dismay, though, he sidled along the island. Moving closer.

“Come on, Sal. Let’s drink a toast to your good news. What?” One eyebrow arched in casual question. “You didn’t think I knew that my ex-wife is the front-runner to replace Judge Kendal on the bench?”

Oh, no, he’d heard the rumors. She should have guessed he would have. And that he’d be quick to react. Her professional accomplishments always triggered Neil’s worst displays of temper. Too late she wished she’d lied about dinner and said she was expecting company. Neil would never buy the story now. Especially since she’d set only one plate at the counter. Taken down just the single wineglass.

Maybe she could improvise…

“Neil, you really need to be going. I have to eat quickly. My book club is meeting here at seven.” That was only half an hour from now. And a smart man like Neil would factor in the possibility that someone might arrive early…

“Sal.” He gave her a disappointed smile. “Don’t you think I know you meet with your book club on the second Friday of every month? Not the third.”

“We had to change for April,” she said, doing her best to speak slowly. “Because of spring break.”

“I don’t think so. You always were a lousy liar. But that’s probably a good thing. Judges shouldn’t lie, should they, Sal?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Neil. Willa isn’t retiring for another two months. And I’m sure there are other worthy candidates for the position.” Sally couldn’t be sure she would get the appointment until she had the official call from the federal justice minister.

“Who do you think you’re fooling with that bogus humility? Not me, I assure you.”

He had that smile on his face now. Beth had called it the ice-man smile. He used it in court occasionally when he was moving in for the kill on a vulnerable witness. But to Sally the ice-man smile never seemed as cruel, as ruthless, as when she felt it directed at herself.

“Whatever, Neil.”

“Justice Stowe. Sounds very distinguished, doesn’t it?”

“Neil—”

“Long-term board member of that stupid battered women’s shelter. Past president of the law society. The volunteer hours in dispute resolutions. Looks like all your goody-goody work is actually paying off.”

With each word, Sally could sense his anger building. There was no avoiding a full-scale argument now, she knew from experience. Any word, any movement, even a facial twitch on her part could set him off. Might as well get it over with, she decided.

“That’s right. It’s all paying off. With any luck, in two months I’m going to be appointed to the bench. Is that why you dropped by tonight—to offer your congratulations?”

The changes that fell over his face were utterly predictable. First his eyebrows lowered into a frown. His smile tightened. His eyes narrowed.

He moved again, rounding the island and then cornering her against the counter.

“Congratulations?” He spit out the word. “You think you deserve a pat on the back for reneging on your real job—raising our child and being a good wife?”

“I’m not your wife anymore.”

“To me you are. I may have signed those papers….”

He’d had to sign them. She’d known him well enough to serve them when he was at work, in a meeting. He couldn’t pretend to his colleagues that nothing was amiss. So he’d pretended, instead, that the divorce was his idea. She didn’t care about that. All she’d wanted was to finally be legally free of the man.

Except she wasn’t free. Would never be free. Not as long as they shared custody of Lara. Neil had their daughter alternate weekends and every Wednesday evening. He’d pick her up from dry-land training at Canada Olympic Park, take her out for dinner, then bring her home around nine.

“To me, you’ll always be mine. You’re still sexy, Sal. In some ways even more than when you were in your twenties. What do you say, babe? Maybe we should celebrate your good news in bed.”

She couldn’t stop herself from cringing. The memories of times in their marriage when she’d made love with him in order to avoid a fight came back in a rush of shame. Why had she married so quickly? So thoughtlessly?

With hindsight, none of her reasons seemed compelling enough to warrant landing herself with Neil Anderson for the rest of her life.

“Don’t look at me that way. I remember when you couldn’t get enough in the sack. But now that you’re about to become a judge, you’re too good for me. Is that it, Sal?”

He’d moved to within touching distance. Armani started whining again.

“Get out of my face, Neil. You may be scaring the dog, but you’re not scaring me. Those days are long over.”

He could scream and yell and rant at her as long as he liked. She didn’t care. As long as he was mad about something that didn’t affect Lara, it simply didn’t matter.

That’s what Sally told herself, but her body refused to take the presence of an angry, hulking man in her kitchen quite so lightly. She could feel all the old warning signs. Racing heart, damp palms, shallow breathing. She forced herself to fill her lungs with air and release it slowly.

Neil watched her face with the fascination of a scientist observing slides under a microscope. “You’re a coldhearted bitch. You’ve been judging men for years. Now you’ll get to do it in court. Break their balls and send them to jail for as long as the law allows. God help the slobs who look for mercy from you.”

Sally didn’t listen to the words. She was used to Neil’s diatribes. He had several favorite themes, from her dearth of maternal instincts for their daughter, to her hatred of men in general, and him in particular. She was frigid, a bitch, and worse…

At some point he’d start swearing and then he’d throw something, maybe punch a wall, and leave.

But tonight he was frighteningly calm and still.

And close.

He was a fanatically clean man, but he could not hide his own essence beneath the scent of his soap, his aftershave, his mouthwash. That essence, as familiar to her as his every expression, made her ill.

Yet, she refused to back away. She lifted her gaze and stared him straight in the eyes, not caring if he saw the contempt she felt in her heart.

“You always thought you were too good for me, Sal, didn’t you? Right from the beginning.”

Though his words were uttered quietly, his jaw was tight. She saw a sheen of moisture on his brow, noticed his fist clench at his side.

“Get out of my house, Neil.”

“Your house? YOUR house?”

His eyes glazed over and Sally knew this was it. He was gone. If any sliver of logic could have reached him before, now it was no longer possible. She watched him lift his hand. The wine bottle was nearby. She knew the way he thought, the way he operated. He was going to break the bottle, hurl it onto the tile flooring, or worse, throw it across the room.

Red wine was going to be spilled all over her beautiful, spanking-new kitchen…

But Neil’s hand didn’t stop at the bottle. It kept moving and just a split second before she went flying, she realized the hand was headed for her.

He pushed her violently, letting loose a barrage of cursing at the same time.

“No!” Feeling herself lose her balance, Sally threw out her arms. One hand glanced off the wok, the smoking, hot wok.

She hollered in pain, and then he shoved her again, harder this time. She felt her legs fly out from under her. On the way down her head glanced off the edge of the granite counter with a thud.

For a second all was numb. Then sensation returned in an explosion of pain.

Oh, God!

She landed on the floor, on the cold, hard tile and couldn’t stop herself from moaning. Her head vibrated with waves of pain. She couldn’t believe she was still conscious. She put a hand to the spot and felt the warm stickiness of blood.

“Neil…” she moaned. Phone the ambulance, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t get out the words. Oh, my head, my head. Help me, Neil. Surely you didn’t mean to do this.

“You always were clumsy in the kitchen, Sal.”

She couldn’t see him, but she felt his breath in her ear as he spoke the words. He must be crouching on the floor beside her. Sally tried to open her eyes, but all she saw was darkness. White dots of light.

“You’re never going to be a judge, you bitch. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you aren’t disbarred.”

She heard his pants rustle as he stood and she had a sudden fear of being kicked. She was so vulnerable here on the floor, writhing at his feet. She forced herself to be still, to stop the moaning. No matter that she could hardly breathe for the throbbing in her head. She couldn’t let him see her broken.

Seconds ticked by. She waited for his next move. A kick? A punch? Would he throw something at her?

And then she heard his hard-soled shoes clapping on the Mediterranean tile floor. The sound receded, then stopped. The back door opened, slammed shut.

He was gone. Thank goodness he was gone.

She curled her legs up toward her chest and tried to lift her head. No. Impossible.

Armani’s paws clacked against the tile as he came to check her out. She felt his soft, warm tongue on her hand.

“Good boy,” she tried to whisper.

Blackness. Pain. The smell of blood.

Have to get up. But she couldn’t. Armani continued to whine, to nudge her hand with his nose.

Ow. Her burned hand hurt. Everything hurt. Need help.

Beth.

With her uninjured hand, she pulled out the cell phone clipped to her waist. Her thumb passed over the buttons, pressing a familiar speed-dial number by rote.

Her fingers were slick with blood, her movements uncoordinated. The phone slipped to the floor near her head. The house was so quiet, she could hear the rings. One. Two. Three.

Someone answered. It was a man’s voice. That was wrong. She didn’t want a man.

Beth. She tried to speak, but didn’t know if any sound came out. Help me, Beth.

Then all went dark.