Donna looked at her calmly. “Then call Flynn and tell him.”
“Well, I’m not sure I want to if he can behave so foolishly. Anyhow, what about Rochelle? Where does she fit in?”
“She doesn’t, though she’d like to. They’ve had lunch together a few times, nothing more.”
“Oh!” Relief flooded through Freya. Still, Flynn was behaving like a spoiled kid over something he knew nothing about but had made into a big deal. “I would rather,” she added, “that you didn’t tell Flynn about this little discussion.”
Donna smiled. “Sure. My lips are sealed. I just hope you two can sort something out. You’ll have to wait until he’s back though.”
“Back?”
“Friday, about nine thirty. He’s gone to Parrot Island for a few days. Alone,” she added with a smile.
»»•««
Although Freya had hidden it from Donna, Flynn’s reaction to the harmless visit had irritated her. How dare he surmise she’d slept with Phillip?
Well she certainly would not be calling him now! Let him go to his damn island! She drove up to her front door, not at all surprised to see Ian hadn’t turned up.
Tomorrow she’d be up early, ready for him. The envelope containing cash from the previous time she meant to pay him off was still in the dresser. She withdrew it, and adding more notes from her wallet, made it up into two months’ pay. After checking that all the downstairs window locks were in place and the front and back doors bolted, she turned on the TV. But it was hard to settle. Her mind kept straying. The photos in the box which had been moved, Lucy’s purse, the soil marks on the window sill.
Was this, she wondered, what her father had referred to? “Strange happenings,” he’d written. Was that why he’d bought the gun?
Freya flicked the TV off, convinced now that Ian was the culprit. But did she have any evidence to support her suspicions and involve the police?
She thought probably not.
The morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Freya set the alarm to be up in time. The night hours ticked by and she lay awake. Half her thoughts were tuned in to every little noise in and outside of the house, the other centered on Flynn. She stared at the ceiling, watching the play of light as clouds scudded across the moon, her anger against him completely gone. She yearned for his calmness, his strength, and wanted more than anything to share her father’s letter and her visit to Pamela with him.
She knew she only had to call him, express her fears, and he’d come, but until now pride had stood in the way. She flung over onto her side, recalling a time with Suze and Lucy at college, when after a silly argument over nothing at all, she and Suze had laid a “No Go Zone” down the middle of the room, Suze with a rope, and Freya with a chalk mark across the wooden floor in retaliation. Lucy had protested about being the piggy in the middle, but for two ridiculous weeks they kept it up, neither wanting to be the first to give in, until the night Suze came in tipsy and staggered over Freya’s chalk mark. “I forgive you,” she’d shouted, and Freya cried about how sorry she was and they collapsed in a heap, laughing helplessly. The following day Suze sent her a card which read, “It is better to lose your pride with someone you love rather than lose that love with useless pride.”
How very true that was, Freya thought. Tomorrow night she would call him, explain everything about Phillip, and hope that would clear the air.
Yes. That’s what she’d do. Punching the pillow into shape, she at last fell asleep.
»»•««
The alarm woke her, and she dressed hurriedly and dashed downstairs, just finishing her coffee when the movement of Ian on his bicycle caught her eye. Grabbing the envelope, she walked out into the garden.
“Ian.”
“Yeah?” He dismounted and walked toward her. “You’re up early.”
“Well that’s because I wanted to see you.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grinned insolently, and Freya clenched her teeth.
“Look, Ian, I really don’t think this arrangement is working well at all.” She held the envelope out. “I’ve put two months’ wages in there. I’m sorry but I’d like you to finish today.”
“What?” He glared at her. “Just like that! Get lost, Ian, I no longer want you! Why? I want to know why.” His eyes narrowed to slits, his face red and angry.
“It’s just…look, I really appreciate the way you’ve worked here, I can’t fault you on that score, but I’ve decided I’d like to take on some of the gardening work myself now that I have so much time on my hands. Do you…do you understand?”
“No. As a matter of fact I don’t.” He sneered. “You’re a user like your old man.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Ian snatched the envelope. “Just like him. He was a user too, got rid of me like you’ve done. Good riddance, Ian, don’t want you. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Hoity Toity.” He leaned closer and Freya took a step back. Her palms were sticky with perspiration. “It ain’t that easy to get rid of me. You’ll find out like he did.”
“Don’t threaten me, Ian,” she said coldly. “I don’t scare easily. I’m not a frail old man. I’d like you to go now, please.”
Freya turned on her heel and went inside, closing the door and leaning against it heavily. Her heart was beating rapidly. For all her brave words, he had scared her. She bit her lip. Should she call the police?
Freya watched from the side of the window until Ian had disappeared down the driveway, glad to be rid of him and sure she’d seen the last of him. No point, she told herself, in involving the police now. What could she possibly prove after all? He’d been angry because she’d dismissed him?
They’d laugh at her.
She waited a further ten minutes so as not to pass him on the road before collecting her bag and keys and driving to the shop.
»»•««
Margaret greeted her with a wide smile. “The chest sold from the window, Freya. The couple who bought it have asked for a couple of bedside cabinets to match. I do believe there are a couple in the shed, not in very good condition as I recall, but they’ll paint up well. Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
“Fine, had a bad night, that’s all.” She yawned.
“Ah, here’s Mickey. Morning, pa dear. How are you?”
“Good. I’m good. My, it’s a treat to my old eyes seeing the two prettiest women in Morvenna in one room.”
Margaret laughed. “You say that to everybody! Are you okay to pick up that stuff from the Crawfords’?”
“Sure. I’ll go straight away. Perhaps Freya had better come with me.”
“Do you mind, Freya? Trouble is, Mickey will bring everything back if there isn’t someone along to stop him.”
Mickey chortled. “Remember that time you sent me out to the old Webster homestead?”
“I do! He did,” Margaret explained to Freya, “also bring back the rusty, old stove and fridge. I could hardly do a paint job on those!”
Mickey widened his blue eyes innocently, making Freya laugh. “I’ll keep an eye on you,” she said.
They drove out of town onto the freeway heading north. “The Crawfords,” Mickey explained, “are an elderly couple Margaret has known for years. They were avid antique collectors at one time, used to have a shop in Morvenna, but they fell out over the amount of stuff Mrs. Crawford kept in the house. Apparently,” Mickey continued, “you couldn’t move for furniture. Anyway, Mr. Crawford moved into one half of the house, emptied it of almost all the furniture, except for the necessities, and that’s how they’ve lived ever since.”
“Weird.” Freya recalled the rope down the middle of the room at college with a smile. “Fancy living estranged from each other but in the same house.”
They’d turned off down a dirt road. Mickey chuckled. “Well now, I see a motive in this getting rid of everything by the missus.”
“You do?”
“Sure. She wants reconcil
iation.”
Freya looked at him. He shot her a glance and laughed.
“I bet I’m not wrong,” he said. “Here we are.”
The clapboard house had definitely seen better days. Peeling paintwork, broken veranda railings, and weeds sprouting between the brick pathways, yet still, Freya thought it oozed charm.
As Mickey parked the van, the front door opened and a sprightly old lady with hair the color of freshly fallen snow came down the steps to greet them.
“Good morning, Mickey,” she said. “How lovely to see you.” Her glance settled on Freya.
“Ah, this is Freya Martin. Archie’s daughter. She’s working with Margaret a while.”
“Well it’s lovely to meet you, Freya, though I really didn’t need an introduction. Goodness me!” She smiled. “You know, I was always a little scared of big Archie, those bushy red eyebrows, the booming voice, but he was harmless really. Such a dear. And you, Mickey, you’re looking as well as ever.”
“Aw, now, that’s because I’m in the presence of the two loveliest ladies in Morvenna,” he said with a wink at Freya.
“Shucks! You’re still full of the old charm.” Mrs. Crawford turned and called over her shoulder. “Mickey’s here, dearest.”
Mickey looked at Freya as Mr. Crawford appeared. Gray-haired with a white beard, he put his arm tentatively around his wife’s shoulders.
“Good, good, my dear girl,” he said. “Can’t wait to see the back of all that rubbish. Perhaps now I’ll see more of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mickey and Freya drove back to town with a full vanload and much laughter.
“You were right, Mickey! How lovely that they’re reconciled.” She thought of the words Mrs. Crawford had whispered to her as the furniture was being loaded. “Resistance to temptation is only pride in disguise. I’m not tempted any longer to have my own way.”
“The old man told me they’re spending the money on a second honeymoon. The Caribbean, would you believe! Good on ‘em,” Mickey said. “That’s the way to go.”
“A honeymoon in the Caribbean,” Freya said dreamily.
Mickey shot her a glance. “You gotta get married first.”
“Mm.”
“Flynn has a beautiful place in the Caribbean. He’s there now. Maybe he’ll show it to you one day.”
“Maybe. He did mention something once.”
»»•««
Kept busy, Freya had little time to dwell on her run in with Ian. She certainly hadn’t thought to mention it to Margaret, and gradually the memory of his angry face receded. All she could think of was her intended call to Flynn later that evening.
Home from work, she made a light supper, eating it in the kitchen. She felt strung up, willing the hours away until he was home. So much to tell him.
Running a bath, she soaked in it and gradually began to relax, in her mind planning what she would say. How she had missed him, wanted to see him, could he call round if he wasn’t too tired?
The water had cooled. She climbed out and donned her nightdress. Pulling her robe on, she went downstairs, dropped the kitchen blind, lit the lamp, and turned on Skype.
Sammy was online waiting, clearly excited.
“Honey,” she said, “you’ll never guess what.”
Freya laughed. “No, you’re right, I won’t, so tell me.”
“Okay… Oh, it’s so exciting! The thing is, Joe has been offered a job in Silicon Valley. He starts on the first of December.”
“Oh, wonderful, Sammy! You’ll be here for Christmas.”
“Sure will, honey. The company has arranged a rental for us until we decide where we want to settle. I can hardly believe it!”
Freya felt a sudden pang. “Mom, Sammy. I’ve been a little remiss lately…”
“She understands, Freya, honestly she does. And Joe and I have already discussed it. We want her to come with us.”
“You make me feel so guilty! Sammy, I found something…a diary that my father wrote and, well, there are a few things going on for me at the moment, but tell Mom I’ll be in touch soon.”
The conversation carried on for a further hour and at the end Sammy said, “Speak to her soon, Freya. Oh, hon, won’t it be fantastic to be close by you again? It’s more than I could ever wish for.”
“Well, well.” Freya closed the computer, her head spinning with the news, thrilled at the idea of having her family around her.
She glanced at the clock. Nine forty-five. He must be home by now.
With shaky fingers she punched in his number. It was answered almost immediately.
“Flynn O’Neill speaking.”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “Hi, Flynn, it’s Freya. How are you?”
“Freya. This is a pleasant surprise. Yeah, I’m good. A little tired, but otherwise okay. You?”
“Yeah, good too. Still enjoying working with your mom. We’ve had a busy day. How was your island?”
“It was great, always is.”
“Flynn, I’ve missed you.” She held her breath.
“You did?” he said quietly. “Well that’s good ’cause I sure as heck missed you! Those few days on the island gave me the time and solitude to think. I’ve been foolish, Freya, I let things get in the way.”
“Tell me what you mean by, things.” She said it lightly, her voice teasing.
“You sound as though you’re smiling.”
Freya’s stomach somersaulted at the caress in his voice. “I am,” she said, “because I’m waiting to hear what you have to say.”
“Okay, okay. It was seeing the blond guy at your place, right? I acted like a jealous sixteen-year-old because I didn’t want him there, don’t want any other man with you other than myself. Freya?”
“I’m listening.”
“Well…I have to ask, have I blown it with you? Hey, Freya, you’re laughing now, I can hear you.”
“Well, Flynn that’s because your jealousy is totally groundless and I’m just so relieved that’s all that has kept you away. The guy was Phillip, the accountant I worked with in Philadelphia. I left the company while he was overseas and he came here to talk me into going back to the firm and I said no. He spent the night in the spare room.”
“Ah! So you and he…?”
“Were lovers? Had an amazing love life? No and no.”
Flynn chuckled. “You have no idea how great that sounds. And I must tell you something else…away from you, even on my beautiful island, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Night and day, you were there. All I could see was your lovely eyes, recall the feel of you, our passion, and I finally admitted to myself what I’ve known, I guess, all along. I love you, Freya. I’m crazy about you. You know, this is a new experience for me, something I needed to be sure of before I spoke. Am I making sense?”
Freya’s skin tingled, happiness making her feel light-headed. “Oh, Flynn!” Her voice broke. “Wonderful sense. I want to see you…one moment, I just heard something.” She walked across to the window and peered beneath the blind.
“What is it?” Flynn asked.
“I don’t know, can’t see anything. It sounded like a pot breaking outside. Some sort of critter, I expect.” She glanced at the beeping computer screen and groaned. “It’s Mom on Skype, Flynn. I’ll have to answer. Things have been a little fraught between us… Oh, there’s so much to tell you. Can I call you back? Will you,” she added shyly, “come down to see me?” She heard his deep intake of breath, his gruff reply.
“Only if you promise to keep the conversation short.”
“Give me ten minutes. Okay? And Flynn?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
He growled softly. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Yes,” Freya said, “but I want that to wait until you get here.”
“Hurry!” he said.
She closed her phone and dashed to the computer. “Hi, Mom. Mom, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Such a lot ha
s happened…I have a better understanding now of why you kept Archie a secret. I’m proud to be his daughter, Mom. And I have to tell you this…Pamela is still alive. She’s in a home here. I’ve visited her.”
Susan’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, my, Freya. Oh, the poor woman. How did you find out, for heaven’s sake?”
“Mom, my father left a book, which I shall give to you. It explains everything. Mom, I have to go. I’m expecting someone.”
Susan looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s almost ten there, honey! Who’s calling at this time of night?”
Freya grinned. “You know about Flynn? Well he’ll be here in five minutes. Must go. I’ll call you in the morning.”
She closed the screen and placed a hand to her chest, taking deep breaths to try and still her racing heart, but it pounded on as the adrenalin coursed through her.
A noise suddenly startled her. She stared at the kitchen ceiling where it had come from. The spare bedroom was directly above. She listened, ear strained, and heard it again. A small clunk, a squeak of floorboard. And now her heart beat rapidly with an entirely different emotion—fear. She walked quietly across the kitchen, into the hallway. Moonlight streamed in from the landing window. No one was in the hall. She left the light off and tiptoed across to the staircase, put her foot on the first tread, missed the second—the one that creaked—and made her way slowly upstairs. As she stepped onto the landing, the spare bedroom door swung open and she screamed in alarm. Ian stood there.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ian advanced toward her. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wild, and Freya stifled a whimper of fear.
“Get out of here,” she said boldly.
“Hey,” he sneered. “I don’t work for you no more, so don’t tell me what to do. Right?” He pointed his finger close to her face. “I take no more orders from you. Do this, do that. All finished.”
Freya tried to steady her own breathing. There was, she realized, no point in angering him further by yelling. He looked strange, fidgety and on edge, hopping from foot to foot, and she wondered if he was on drugs. He was close to her now, close enough that she could smell something on his breath. Whisky?
The Way Love Goes Page 16