A warm burst rose up from the pit of Emily’s stomach. It was quickly tempered by a rush of anxiety. She was taking too long to answer. She could tell by the twitch at the corner of Carter’s mouth, by the slight sag in his shoulders. Say something!
“I ... that should be fine.”
What she’d meant to say was that this week was already busy and perhaps next week would be better—which was more or less the same excuse she’d used last time. Feeling betrayed by her unconscious, she avoided Carter’s wide, toothy grin.
“Great. How about Wednesday evening?”
“I–”
Her face was burning now, her heart protesting in her chest. She wasn’t ready. She was only now getting to grips with herself, never mind getting entangled with someone else. She would tell him she’d changed her mind. It was too soon.
Emily opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. Just as the quiet became an unbearable roar, her phone began to ring.
Mumbling an apology, she pressed the phone to her ear.
“Where are you right now?” Jerome was out of breath, his voice taut with anxiety.
“I’m at LOST,” she replied. “What’s wrong?”
There was a slight pause before he answered.
“Nothing. Everything’s fine. Are you coming straight home?”
“You’re talking to the woman with no life.” Her eyes darted towards Carter. “You don’t sound like everything’s fine.”
“Okay, good. I’ll cook something,” Jerome said. “And there’s something I need to tell you.”
A cold draught crept over Emily’s skin. “Sounds ominous.”
“I’ll... I’ll see you later.”
Jerome hung up, leaving Emily to stare blankly at her computer screen. It took her a second to remember she still had company.
“Everything all right?” Fine lines appeared at the corner of Carter’s eyes.
Emily nodded. Realising she was staring at him for too long, she quickly looked away.
“Wednesday evening, then?”
She went to shake her head. Instead, she said, “Yes.”
CHAPTER THREE
The old, worrisome lift groaned to a halt on the fourth storey of The Holmeswood. It being a fine evening, Emily had decided to walk most of the way home. Now, her calves ached. Most Londoners of a similar age were probably getting ready for a night on the town. Emily, however, wanted nothing more than to slip into a hot, foamy bath and soak away the hours.
Jerome had other ideas.
“What are you doing?” she asked him, as he met her in the hall and silently guided her into the living room. Once she was seated on the sofa, he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the cabinet, and ducked into the kitchen. “Have you forgotten that I can’t drink?”
“It’s not for you.” He returned with a glass, filled it halfway with syrupy, amber bourbon, and joined her on the sofa.
“What’s going on?” Tiredness crept into Emily’s voice. Everything had to be so dramatic with Jerome, on and off the stage.
Jerome stared at the floor, then drained half of the whiskey. Emily opened her mouth to speak. He held up a hand. She waited for him to empty the rest of the glass.
“Okay, here goes. I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a few days, but we’ve not really seen much of each other.”
“That’s because you practically live at Daniel’s. Wait, you’re not moving in with him, are you? Because you’ve only been together for a couple of months now and not to sound judgemental or anything, but slow and steady wins the race”
Jerome arched an eyebrow. “I’m not moving in with Daniel.”
“Oh. Well, good. I mean, I really like Daniel, but the circumstances you met in weren’t exactly conducive to the beginnings of a romantic relationship. You should spend some time talking things over, getting to know each other.”
“Thank you, Oprah.” Jerome stared at his empty glass. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a trembling stream. “I am moving out, though.”
Emily caught her breath. Of course. She had expected this day to come. It made complete sense. Jerome had been sleeping on her sofa for months now, and while the arrangement benefitted the two of them, the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal. Jerome rarely had any privacy, and, unlike Emily, wasn’t worried about keeping a clean and tidy home.
Emily spied the pile of dirty clothes down by her feet and felt a sudden ache in her chest.
Jerome watched her, waiting for a response.
“Where are you moving to?” she asked, at last.
“You remember my friend, Mags?”
“The one with the tattoos?”
“Her tenant is moving out of her spare room. She asked me if I wanted it. I mean, it makes complete sense for me to say yes, doesn’t it?”
“When are you moving?”
“In two weeks.”
There was an exchange between them; a pang of guilt, a flash of betrayal. Emily forced a smile. She knew she should feel happy for Jerome. After all, there had been a time when he’d almost had to quit London for good. And her sofa had always been intended as a temporary abode. So why did she suddenly feel so betrayed?
“Where does Mags live?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” said Jerome, refilling his glass. “She lives in Brixton.”
“But that’s—”
“South of the river, I know—the forbidden zone! But the room is cheap, and I can easily get another café job closer to home.”
Emily was quiet. The word home sounded strange attached to somewhere that wasn’t her apartment. And as for Brixton, it sounded so far away that Jerome may as well have announced that he was moving overseas.
As if reading Emily’s mind, he said, “It’s pretty easy to get to from here. You just take the Circle line to King’s Cross, then the Victoria line the rest of the way. It’s twenty-five minutes.”
“I don’t take the Underground.”
“Then the 63 bus to Elephant and Castle, then the 415 straight to Brixton. Total journey time of fifty-two minutes.”
Turning away, Emily looked around the spacious living room. Perhaps it would be nice to have her home to herself once more. And she really did want to be happy for Jerome; after a run of bad luck, he was due some happiness.
“It’s exciting.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “You can finally have Daniel over to stay, instead of spending every night of the week at his.”
Jerome moved along the sofa towards her. “And we’ll still see each other all the time. I mean, someone’s got to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re not getting yourself into any more trouble.”
“It’s funny you should mention that...” Emily told Jerome about Diane Edwards’ unusual proposal. As the words came out, she felt a rush of curiosity. There must have been a good reason for Max Edwards to have given into temptation. And how had he ended up wandering the night alone, inebriated enough to have lost his balance and fallen into the Thames?
Beside her, Jerome raised an eyebrow. “That’s weird. Are you sure she’s not some sort of lunatic? Because Lord knows you’ve had enough crazy people in your life. You and me both.”
“I’m pretty sure. She came across as ... trapped, I suppose. As if she wants to move on, but she can’t. Not until she knows the truth.”
“It’s pretty wild, a stranger randomly tracking you down and asking you to do something like that.”
Emily shrugged. “I told her I’d think about it. I mean, it’s not like I’m the police or anything, is it?”
“What are you thinking about it?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to help her... And she would pay me...”
“Well, hello, it’s not like you don’t need the money right now. Especially now I’m moving out.”
Emily winced. She got up and moved over to the window. In the street below, Londoners sauntered by in suits and skirts as they headed straight for the bars. Above the buildings, the evening sun burn
ed through the smog.
Jerome leaned forward on the sofa. “I don’t know, Em. What if it’s dangerous?”
“Well, then, it would be perfect for me, wouldn’t it?”
She turned back to the window, hiding her glassy eyes. Out of the millions of people populating the metropolis, there was just a small handful that Emily could call friends. She and Jerome had been through so much together in the short time they’d known each other. What would it mean when he moved to the south of the city? She would see less of him. London wasn’t like the village in which she’d grown up. You couldn’t just walk down the street and see everyone you knew in the space of ten minutes. Especially when you lived on opposite sides of the river. Miles lay in between. Londoners spent so much of their time travelling—to work and back every day, or to do simple chores like shopping for food—that having to then journey across the city to see a friend for a couple of hours was tantamount to trekking across the Himalayas. When friends moved away from your neighbourhood to another part of London, you inevitably said a gradual farewell.
As if sensing Emily’s melancholy, Jerome appeared beside her. He slung an arm over her shoulder.
“You know, if you hadn’t given me a roof over my head, I’d be back in Nowheresville, slowly losing my mind. I owe you. But I really believe this will be good for the both of us. Besides, now you can finally invite whatshisname over for dinner without me having to play chaperone.”
Emily’s sadness was momentarily eclipsed by embarrassment. “There is no whatshisname. We’re just friends.”
“Mm-hmm. Carter West... What kind of name is that anyway?” Jerome was quiet for a moment. He pulled Emily closer. “It feels like the end of an era.”
Feeling lead-like and sullen, Emily continued to watch the street.
“That’s because it is.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Summer continued to make a last stand over the weekend. On Saturday morning, Jerome sloped off to Daniel’s, leaving Emily home alone with nothing planned. His news had left her filled with self-pity. She channelled her negativity into bursts of housework, then spent the rest of the day staring at the TV. On Sunday, misery had turned to rejection, rejection to anger. Fine. Leave then. What do I care? She had plenty of things to be getting on with anyway. Such as deciding whether or not to accept Diane Edwards’ proposal.
By the time Monday came around, bringing fresh bills in the mail and a growing sense of despair, Emily had made up her mind. After all, what did she have to lose?
Diane Edwards was overjoyed. “That’s wonderful news, Emily! I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Emily warned. “Other than to try my best.”
“No one could ask for any more.”
After hanging up, Emily felt better. Even if her investigation didn’t end in success, at least she now had something to occupy her mind. The fee she’d earn would take care of her bills for a while as well.
She didn’t have to wait long to make a start. A package arrived on Tuesday morning, which Emily opened with ravenous enthusiasm. Diane had sent her a stack of paperwork, Max’s old work diary, and a letter, which Emily read straight away.
Dear Emily,
I’m so pleased you’ve agreed to help me. This package contains everything I could find. Apologies for the paperwork being in such disarray. I’m not sure how useful any of it is. As mentioned in our phone conversation, Tim Marsden might be a good person to talk to. I know what I’m asking is a tall order, and the chance of finding out what happened to Max is slim, but as my mother always said: if you don’t try, you’ll never know.
Please don’t hesitate to call with any questions.
Yours sincerely,
Diane Edwards.
A quick scan of the paperwork revealed a deluge of bank statements, invoices and receipts, and work-related data, most of which made Emily’s eyes glaze over. Flipping through the pages of Max’s appointments diary, she pulled Tim Marsden’s number from a list of contacts, as well as the number for Valence Industries’ processing plant in Mariner’s Port. A quick skim of the rest of the diary revealed dates and times for work-related meetings. Appointments had been scheduled for up to three weeks after Max’s death. Nothing out of the ordinary presented itself.
Opening up her laptop, Emily began typing up the information she had already gleaned from Diane Edwards.
At the time of his death, forty-nine-year-old Max Edwards had been in Valence Industries’ employment for six years. On Thursday, 28th May of last year, he’d attended a fundraising gala to launch the Clean Water Project—a charitable endeavour to aid those Third World Countries where purified drinking water was scarce. The Clean Water Project was the culmination of a partnership between Valence Industries and Earth Conservation Group—more commonly known as ECG—a non-government environmental organisation. Proceeds from the gala were to benefit the project, which Max had played an integral role in getting off the ground. The gala had been held in London at the Riverside Hotel. Max had stayed overnight. He’d failed to meet his colleagues for breakfast the following morning. His body had been discovered on the bank of the Thames just three hours after Diane Edwards had filed a missing persons report.
Sucking in a nervous breath, Emily picked up her phone. Here goes, she thought. She tried Tim Marsden’s mobile number first. The call went straight to voicemail and Emily hung up without leaving a message. Next, she tried Valence Industries’ plant in Mariner’s Port. A cheerful receptionist told her that Tim Marsden would be in meetings for the rest of the day. Emily left her name and number and said she would try again.
What now? Ignoring the doubt whispering in her ear, she pulled up a web browser and found Valence Industries’ website. The company was American, but its plants could be found all over the world. In the UK, they had the processing plant in Mariners Port, Kent, and a performance test centre in Leicestershire. The plant was where Max Edwards had worked. It was a commutable distance from Epsom, but long work days plus two hours of journey time meant that he and his wife would have seen little of each other during the week.
Passing the time, Emily scanned the rest of the site but found nothing of particular interest. Partly out of curiosity, partly out of boredom, she then hopped over to the Earth Conservation Group’s website. ECG were heading several campaigns. Emily skimmed through them: climate change, fishing fleets in the Arctic, fracking, rain forest destruction, palm oil—the list went on and on.
ECG also had a blog. Emily scrolled through the article previews. Feeling inspired, she clicked on the blog archives and began reading through entries from May of last year. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. The headline read: GALA RAISES THOUSANDS AS CLEAN WATER PROJECT LAUNCHES. It wasn’t a long article, just a few paragraphs detailing the night’s proceedings and the burgeoning relationship between ECG and Valence Industries. Together, the article stated rather enthusiastically, the companies were ‘leading the way towards a cleaner, greener chemicals industry.’
With help from ECG, Valence were not only looking at ways to reduce their energy outputs, but they were also involving themselves in humanitarian efforts, such as the Clean Water Project. Max Edwards was mentioned as project lead for Valence. There was a photograph. Max was tall and broad-shouldered, handsome in a silver-fox kind of way, with eyes that were weary and knowing. In the picture, he was dressed in a tuxedo and shaking hands with a woman. The caption beneath the photograph read: Valence Industries’ Max Edwards and ECG’s Anya Copeland have been working in partnership on the Clean Water Project for eighteen months. Emily jotted the woman’s name into her notebook.
Her eyes settled on the ominous pile of Max’s paperwork. She would need more coffee before she could even think of wading through it. As she waited for the kettle to boil, her gaze wandered through the kitchen, past the saloon doors, and into the living room. The only sound was the hiss of heating water. Everything else was quiet and still. Emily though
t about Jerome. She had spent the best part of four days alone. It was not his fault, she knew that. So why did she feel so upset with him? The more she thought about Jerome leaving, the more the apartment seemed to close in on her. A great heaviness manifested inside her stomach. She was craving people. Contact. Not to be alone.
***
“Sit yourself down. Go on! I’ll get the tea going.”
Emily did as she was told, pushing a pile of books to one side and flopping down on Harriet’s sofa. The Goldings’ living room had always resembled a dishevelled library, but today it appeared that books had given birth to books, multiplying until there was barely room to move. Emily stared at the towers of novels, journals, newspapers, and magazines that covered the floor and every other available surface.
“Don’t say a word,” Harriet said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow, mark my words. Either that or he will.”
Emily nodded. She’d heard those words several times before.
“Anyway, let’s keep our voices down. His lordship is still asleep. Lazy sod!”
While Harriet hobbled into the kitchen to make tea, Emily continued to survey the chaos. Andrew Golding was an odd man, she thought. An odd man who had reached middle-age without ever having left the family nest.
“Here we are.” Harriet emerged from the kitchen, the tea tray rattling dangerously in her hands.
Emily leapt up to help.
“You sit down, I’m fine.”
“Don’t be so stubborn.” Emily set the tray down on the coffee table as Harriet huffed and puffed her way into her armchair. “There’s nothing wrong with letting others help out.”
The elderly woman grumbled while Emily poured the tea.
“I’ll do the rest. You mind your own.” Harriet spooned a small mountain of sugar into her cup, took a noisy sip, then set the cup down with a clatter. “Haven’t seen you for a while. Keeping busy, are you?”
“I’ve been doing some extra shifts at LOST. They’re short on volunteers.”
Cold Hearts Page 2