by Maggie Cox
‘I put plenty of sugar in yours,’ she said kindly, handing one to a white-faced Emma.
‘Thanks, Liz.’
‘Any news?’ Glancing anxiously towards the ominously closed grey swing doors, Liz took a wary sip of her scalding beverage.
‘Not yet.’ Her gaze sliding away from the concern in her friend’s eyes, Emma wished she didn’t feel so damn helpless. Just a few feet away, the person she cared about most in the whole world was fighting for her life and there was nothing her granddaughter could do except pray.
‘Helen is strong,’ Liz was assuring her. ‘If anyone can pull through it’s your grandmother.’
‘She shouldn’t have had to wait so long for her operation. If I could have afforded for her to be treated privately I would have.’
‘I can see where this is heading.’ Shaking her head, Liz caught hold of Emma’s wrist with her free hand. ‘You don’t need yet another thing to blame yourself for! All you’ve done is love and support your gran above and beyond the call of duty, if you want my opinion. I don’t know many girls your age who would willingly give up weekend after weekend for the last five years to go and take care of an ailing relative. The last thing that brave lady in there would want is you giving yourself a hard time because you haven’t done enough!’
Her lip trembling, Emma bit back the urge to break down and cry. If she recovered from this awful event, Helen Robards was going to need her even more. Therefore, Emma needed to stay strong. What use would she be to anybody if she was to show weakness now? She didn’t remember a lot about her father from her childhood but she did remember him yelling at her mother that he despised her for being so weak. Well, Emma wasn’t like her mother. She was made of sterner stuff…wasn’t she? No man was going to ever accuse her of depending on him too much. For starters she wasn’t going to give them the chance. Least of all Piers Redfield, with his clinical offer to support her financially should she find herself pregnant…
‘I had so many plans for her little house. I’d already bought the paint and stuff to do it up while she was in hospital.’ Her honey-brown gaze glistening, Emma pulled away from Liz’s kind grip on her wrist. As she glanced up and down the clinical corridor with its shabby medical notices on the walls and the wilting potted plants on the stark white sills, fear welled up inside her and wouldn’t be tamped. What was she going to do if her grandmother didn’t pull through? When Helen Robards went, Emma would have nobody…
Someone pushed open the swing doors. As both women whirled around to see who it was, the middle-aged Chinese surgeon, who had briefly introduced himself to Emma as Mr Lau just after her grandmother had been admitted, stepped forward to talk to her. Although his kind face was carefully blank, Emma couldn’t stop herself from fearing the worst.
‘I am very sorry, Miss Robards, but your grandmother passed away five minutes ago. Her heart was very weak and unfortunately we could not save her.’
Emma didn’t hear anything much after that except the loud rush of blood in her ears. Through numbed lips she thanked the surgeon for doing all he could then shook his hand and allowed Liz to guide her back down onto the bench seat. Her hand trembling, she raised her coffee to her lips and took a sip.
‘Would you mind waiting here for a little while? I will send a nurse to come and talk to you. There are things you will need to attend to.’
Looking up, Emma nodded blankly. ‘What? Yes…thank you.’
‘I’ll stay with her,’ Liz assured him before watching him march purposefully back through the dark grey doors. Privately she thought he must be relieved that Emma didn’t break down in front of him or become upset. God forbid that we should display our humanity and become emotional! Swallowing down her anger at the unfairness of it all, Liz turned back to Emma, sliding her hand behind the younger woman’s ramrod-straight back and rubbing it. ‘Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry, my love. Of all the terrible things to happen.’
‘I’m all right, Liz.’ Thankful for the blessed numbness that was currently gripping her, Emma smiled listlessly at her friend. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m going to be fine. Honestly.’
‘Of course you are…but not yet, hmm? You’re allowed to cry, Emma. Don’t hold it all inside, please.’
‘I don’t have time to cry! There are things I need to do.’ Pushing herself to her feet, an agitated Emma began to pace the corridor, her low heels echoing down the hall as she walked. ‘As soon as that nurse gets here I’m going to make a list.’
Remaining seated, Liz gave a sigh full of sadness for her friend’s plight. ‘You do whatever you feel you have to, love. And when you’re ready to talk…I’ll be right here.’
‘I insist that you come upstairs and have something to eat with me. You’ve been walking around like a wraith for the past three days now and I won’t have it!’
How like his father he was when he was angry, Emma reflected with a jolt as she glanced up into Lawrence’s reproachful blue eyes. And how naturally it came to him to issue orders! Moving away from the door, she glanced disconsolately across the room at the pile of ironing she’d left on the sofa to tackle that evening, knowing that if she didn’t do something about it soon she’d be walking around looking like a bag lady. Not that she gave a damn. It was hard to care about anything much since her grandmother had gone but thank God the funeral was over and done with. She’d just about held it together to get through that nightmare but the effort had cost her dearly. Now she was spent and shaken, exhausted by grief, depleted by lack of both sleep and food, and she knew she must look a sight—yet she was still overwhelmingly touched by Lawrence’s concern for her well-being.
‘I’ve got too much to do, Lawrence, but thanks all the same.’
‘What have you eaten today?’ Following her into the room, his worried glance took in the piles of strewn clothing on the sofa, the mug of cold, congealed coffee on the floor and the collection of envelopes and letters spread haphazardly across the coffee-table.
‘What have I eaten?’ Pressing her fingers against her temples, Emma tried to think. ‘I had some cornflakes for breakfast and some toast…or was that yesterday? I really can’t remember.’ Picking up a blouse from the sofa, she held it up to the light to examine it. There was no way she could avoid ironing it. If there was one thing she prided herself on it was looking good at work.
‘Leave it.’
‘What?’
‘Leave the damn shirt!’ Snatching it from her hands, Lawrence threw the offending item back on the sofa. ‘If you don’t eat you’re going to get ill, and if you get ill, how are you going to support yourself, eh?’
He had a point, Emma admitted silently. She’d already lost her grandmother, and it went without saying her relationship with Piers was a lost cause. The last thing she needed to do now was lose her job, although in her heart of hearts she knew she would get nothing but help in that quarter from Adam and Liz. They had both attended the funeral with her and insisted that she take as much time off as she needed—her job would still be waiting for her even if that was six months later. They were good, dear friends, but even though the restaurant was undoubtedly successful they couldn’t afford to pay her indefinitely if she wasn’t working.
‘I can’t expect you to cook for me when you’re in the middle of packing.’ Her brown eyes serious, Emma released a small, defeated sigh. Now it had come to it, she didn’t want Lawrence to go. As testing as he could be sometimes, she was genuinely fond of him. Without him the house was going to be far too quiet. At least until a new tenant moved in. She just prayed she wouldn’t get some neighbour from hell to top it all off.
‘Who said anything about cooking?’ With a flash of seriously white teeth, Lawrence grinned shamelessly. ‘They don’t call me the take-away king for nothing, you know!’
So that was how Emma ended up sitting cross-legged on Lawrence’s one remaining rug that hadn’t been packed away, eating Chinese food with a can of lemonade and a Rolling Stones accompaniment on the stereo. All around them were
packing cases and tea chests crammed full of Lawrence’s belongings and the dull grape-coloured walls were stripped bare of all the colourful artwork that he had created and hung there for almost a year now. The place just wouldn’t be the same without him, Emma thought sadly, spearing some beanshoots onto her fork.
‘So…you didn’t tell me. How was Paris?’
His question, coming out of nowhere, made her drop her fork back onto the plate with a clatter.
‘How did you know I went to Paris?’ Dry-mouthed, Emma put her plate to one side then picked up a square of paper towel and pressed it carefully to her lips.
‘It’s OK, Em. My father told me he’d invited you. He made a point of it, in fact. Just like the old man to dig the knife in and twist it. Well? Did you have a good time?’
His calm expression obviously belied the maelstrom of resentment that was tearing him up inside and Emma’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs at the knowledge.
‘Yes.’ She nodded, her expression guarded. ‘It was good. What did you mean when you said it was just like your father to dig the knife in?’
Lawrence scowled. ‘He was playing games, Emma. Didn’t you realise? I don’t want to hurt your feelings but he only made a play for you because he knew I liked you.’
All of a sudden Emma’s chest felt very tight and she found it hard to breathe. ‘What are you saying? That your father deliberately set out to seduce me to get his own back on you?’
‘Think about it, angel. Why else would he show such an interest in you? I mean, you’re a good-looking girl and all that but my father is used to dating beautiful women. And they’re usually models or CEOs or socialites—women in the strata of the mega-rich. I’ve never known him to date a waitress before.’
If he had physically struck her, Emma couldn’t have felt the pain of the blow more.
‘I never realised until now how much of a bastard you can be, Lawrence.’ Tears in her eyes, she jumped to her feet and crossed her arms in front of her chest to stop her hands from trembling.
As her hurtful gaze skimmed his youthful good looks and tousled blond hair, she didn’t have to wonder where Lawrence had inherited his appeal. He had the stamp of his illustrious father all over him and had broken a fair few hearts already to her knowledge—but it was only now that she was beginning to recognise the ruthlessness that must run in the Redfield bones. They didn’t seem to care who they hurt or used as long as they got their own way.
‘I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded.’ As he rose to his feet, Lawrence’s gaze was immediately regretful. ‘You know it’s just him I’m mad at.’
‘And that’s supposed to excuse your vindictiveness towards me?’ Her dark eyes furious, Emma could hardly speak across the pounding of her heart. ‘What am I? Some kind of prize to you both? Since when did I stop being a person with a life of my own?’
‘Em, please.’
‘Don’t you dare ‘‘Em’’ me! I think you’re despicable. And so is your father! If I never set eyes on either of you again I will consider myself blessed!’
Lawrence took a swig of his drink from the soda can then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Why did you sleep with him, Emma? You knew how much I liked you.’ His blue eyes openly resentful, he didn’t even seem to register Emma’s insult. When she didn’t immediately reply to his question, he shrugged and looked as if he wanted to hit somebody. Emma automatically took a couple of steps back.
‘I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything! And if you liked me so much, why did you constantly parade a stream of girls in and out of this flat as if you were running some kind of harem?’
‘You know why. I needed physical gratification and you wouldn’t give it to me.’
‘You’re exactly like a spoilt child. You think you should be able to have whatever you want and to hell with the consequences!’
‘You could be describing Piers himself.’ Letting loose an unpleasant little smile, Lawrence took another swig of his drink, crumpled the can in his hand and jettisoned it into a nearby packing case. ‘For God’s sake, Emma! My father has been able to have his pick of women since I was young. What do you think drove my mother so crazy? She was intensely jealous and only had affairs to pay him back. He may have spent most of his time working but it’s obvious he didn’t go without female company.’
‘So I’m just another notch on his belt, is that what you’re saying? Albeit one that’s beneath him on the social scale. Well, you needn’t worry, Lawrence, because it meant nothing…really. You can tell him that when you next see him. Not that he’ll care.’
Suddenly weary with the weight of emotion that was dragging her down, Emma just wanted to find some peace. She would think about all the implications of what Lawrence had said tomorrow. Right now all her defences were down because she lacked the mental energy that was required to keep them in place and all she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and lose herself in sleep. Smoothing down her jeans, she headed for the door. Lawrence caught up with her just before she got there, his hands locking on to her wrists to impel her towards him.
‘You deserve better than him,’ he told her huskily, his gaze moving restlessly across her startled face.
‘What do you mean?’ Alarmed, she tried to pull her wrists free, but Lawrence wasn’t in a hurry to let her go.
‘Come to Cornwall with me, Em. What’s holding you here? Don’t mind me saying, but now that your grandmother’s gone you can please yourself, can’t you? You’ll easily get a job and even if you don’t I can support you until you do. You can be my muse… You know you’ve always inspired me!’
Emma stopped struggling to free herself and stared at him instead. ‘You can’t be serious. What about Vicky?’
‘She’s gone…finished. Told me she had an aversion to anywhere that wasn’t London and had no intention of moving somewhere as unhip as Cornwall. Can you believe it?’
‘Lawrence, do you really think I’d go anywhere with you after the things you’ve said to me this evening? Think about it—’
Her words were cut off by Lawrence’s lips on hers, his tongue catching her unawares, diving inside the soft, moist cavern of her mouth with all the clumsiness and ardour of a boy on his first date. Emma was initially too stunned to push him away, so neither she nor Lawrence heard the soft knock behind them or saw the man who stepped inside the door that had been left slightly ajar until it was too late.
‘Conveniently, I found the front door left unlocked. I hope I didn’t walk in on anything important?’
‘Piers!’
‘I’m gratified you remember my name. You certainly don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you, Emma?’
As she jerked out of Lawrence’s embrace as though she’d been slapped, Emma’s face turned pale. Piers looked as immaculate as ever, in a black overcoat on top of yet another exquisitely tailored suit, and his gaze was direct and unflinching and about as unforgiving as stone. Nervously drawing the sides of her red wool cardigan together across her blouse, Emma shivered, unable to find words to defend herself.
‘I—I thought you were going away for three months?’
Observing her pallor and the shock in her big brown eyes with a strange mixture of regret and white-hot fury, Piers swallowed hard. That Emma should betray him cut like a knife—but that she should betray him with his own son was like being flayed alive. Right now he didn’t know who he was more furious with—Emma or the feckless Lawrence.
‘So you thought the way was free and clear for you and Lawrence to get together?’
Appalled, Emma felt her mouth drop open. ‘I thought no such thing! Lawrence…say something, for God’s sake!’
Before his son could say anything Piers interjected, ‘As it happens, my plans changed. Well, Lawrence…aren’t you going to say anything? It’s partly because of you I changed them in the first place. Would you care to tell me exactly what’s going on?’
Her brow puckering in confusi
on, Emma turned to glance at Lawrence, who grabbed up another can of soda and took a swig from it, as if nothing in the world could possibly be amiss. ‘All’s fair in love and war, Dad. You weren’t here in Emma’s hour of need—now, why does that not surprise me? And I was…simple as that. Em’s going to come down to Cornwall with me and stay with me a while, aren’t you, Em?’
‘I’m doing no such thing!’ Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Emma was furious that she was somehow caught in the middle of some psychological game Lawrence was playing with his father. And what had Piers meant when he’d said he’d changed his plans because of Lawrence?
‘Is something going on between the two of you?’ Turning his head towards Emma, Piers knew he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes. Not when he’d seen Lawrence kissing her senseless. But he wanted to hear confirmation from her own lips just the same… Those sweetly luscious lips that he had craved the taste of from practically the moment he’d seen her and was still craving. Yes, he’d partly axed his travel plans because of Lawrence—somewhere along the line the two of them had to start building bridges and if it wasn’t now, when Lawrence was planning a new start away from all he knew in London, then when would they work things out? But mostly Piers had come back because of Emma. The thought of her was like a mantra in his mind that refused to go away, and he had to address the fact or die wondering.
‘We’re just friends. At least, I thought we were. If Lawrence has other ideas I assure you they are nothing to do with me.’
At her irritated answer, Piers let out his breath another notch. Shrugging carelessly, Lawrence simply grinned at them both. ‘Can’t blame a bloke for trying, can you?’
‘So you kissed Emma to take a swipe at me, is that it?’
‘One-upmanship, Pops…plain and simple. It felt good to have something that you wanted. It was worth it just to see the look on your face!’ His sarcastic tone undercut with anger, no longer smiling, Lawrence threw his now empty soda can into a nearby empty cardboard box, where it bounced once then fell to the side. Scraping his fingers through his tousled blond hair, he glanced briefly down at the floor before continuing as if trying to contain his temper.