Maybe there’s more to it than just money? Resentment, perhaps? By her own admission she was always her father’s favoured child, and her parents’ marriage was happy, full of love. The same can’t be said for the household Philip was raised in.
Or maybe a guy like Philip can never have enough money.
I’d certainly seen enough of that in my time. Clive was a prime example.
But what did it matter at the end of the day? I’m almost ready to turn the tables on Philip. To fight dirt with dirt and get him off Coco’s case.
Then I can tackle the truth of what this is between us and whether we have a chance—because it’s getting harder by the day to imagine life without her in it.
‘What’s wrong?’
Her voice startles me, and I realise I’m gripping her tightly. I force my hand to relax, my body too.
‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘I was.’
Her head moves against me and I can just make out her eyes in the darkness, looking up at me.
‘And then you seemed to stop breathing. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Nothing for you to worry about at any rate.’
‘If it’s bothering you, then it bothers me.’
I can hear how much she cares in her voice and guilt claws through my chest.
Just bide your time. You can tell her when she’s safe.
I nudge her lips with my own. ‘It can wait. Now, go back to sleep. You’ve another full-on day tomorrow.’
She groans. ‘Don’t remind me. I’m not sure what’s worse—the fact that I have back-to-back meetings or a family dinner to contend with.’
The family dinner gets my vote.
‘Just tell your brother you can’t make it.’
‘I can’t. He wants to discuss Granny’s care and we’re all going—his wife, his mother... I want to be there and make sure they’re doing right by her.’
She falls quiet but her fingers are toying with the hair on my chest, betraying her active brain. Is she worrying about the meal? Her grandmother’s health? The future?
‘Ash?’
‘Hmm...?’
‘Pick me up after? I should be done by ten at the latest.’
I smile at her soft request. ‘Of course.’
Whatever she’s thinking about, worrying over, the fact that she still wants me there at the end of it makes everything feel okay, even though it shouldn’t.
* * *
Dinner is all one would expect from a Michelin-starred restaurant, but I’m not really tasting anything. The starter was swallowed in silence, the main amidst a smattering of small talk. Clara looks bored beyond measure and I’m doing my utmost to ignore my darling stepmother. I’m eager to get the night over with, so I can make my excuses and hurry back to Ash.
I’m more tired than usual too, and I know I have our nightly antics to thank for that, but dealing with the force that is my brother and the women flanking him is always hard work. His mother even now is raking a critical eye over me and sending the hairs on the backs of my exposed arms prickling. I rub them and do my best to ignore her.
‘Are you cold?’ Clara asks me, frowning at the move.
‘A little.’
His mother sips her wine and offers me a disparaging smile. ‘Perhaps if you dressed more appropriately you wouldn’t be.’
‘You ought to know,’ I snap, regretting it as soon as it’s out.
My dress is an elegant sleeveless black number, down to the knee, nothing indecent about it. She’s just getting at me. But fighting with my stepmother never did me any favours. Normally I can ignore her, but not tonight. This meeting has me on edge and I want it over.
‘But we’re not here to discuss my attire, are we? We’re here for Granny. So why don’t we get that out of the way and then we can all get back to our lives?’
‘Goodness, you make it sound like it’s such an inconvenience, having to talk about your grandmother.’ My stepmother looks to Philip. ‘Doesn’t she, darling?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes narrow on me. ‘Have you someplace else you need to be, Coco?’
I feel my cheeks colour. I know they’re baiting me, and I shouldn’t rise to it, but it’s so hard. Especially having endured them for over an hour already, with their mundane sniping at people about whom they have the pleasure of gossiping.
‘It seems you’re rarely at home these days,’ he continues. ‘And I’ve heard some interesting tales on the grapevine as to what has you so occupied.’
Is he serious? Could he know about Ash? Or is this just another gibe? A continuation of his questioning over my whereabouts in front of Granny?
Both his mother and Clara look from him to me, smiles that send my blood cold playing on their lips. I try to ignore them.
‘I’ve been home enough to spend time with Granny—that’s all that matters.’
‘You’ve been just as doting as ever.’ He nods, overly sincere. ‘As have I, for that matter. But it isn’t enough—hence this meeting.’
My sudden panic about Ash morphs into a greater fear now. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t think her living at the London residence any longer is a good idea.’
‘But it’s her favoured home. It’s close to her oncologist, her friends, the h—’
He waves his hand to cut me off. ‘You misunderstand me. I think we need to convince her that a hospital—a specialist hospice unit—would be a better place...more comfortable—’
‘Is this your doing?’ I blurt at my stepmother, my stomach churning over. There’s no way my brother would have come to this conclusion alone. He’s not that heartless.
‘Calm down, Coco,’ my brother orders. ‘It benefits us all to know that Granny is taken care of properly 24/7. She can’t even tackle the stairs on her own any more.’
‘So? We’ll convert a room downstairs for her—one that gives her access to the garden and the—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Which room are you suggesting? The drawing room? The garden room? The library?’ My stepmother shakes her head, her perfectly coiffed hair unmoving. ‘All that medical equipment will ruin the house; you’d need handrails put in, and there’s no bathroom downstairs for her to use. And all for the sake of—what? A month? Maybe two?’
I don’t want to listen to her. I don’t want to listen to any of them.
‘But she wants to be at home—she’s asked to stay at home.’
‘Yes, but our summer soirée is next month and how can we possibly consider holding that with your grandmother under the same roof...or not, as the case maybe.’ She sips at her wine, calm as you like, and looks pointedly at Philip.
I stare at her in disbelief. She can’t be serious. She wants to put the location of the Lauren annual bash above... No, it cannot be. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Of course, we can’t exactly hold it somewhere else, we always have it in London,’ Clara chips in. ‘It’s convenient to all. Not to mention it’s a family tradition.’
‘And we know how your grandmother is about tradition,’ my stepmother adds.
‘Christ, have some bloody compassion,’ I snap.
She doesn’t even smart. ‘Compassion only makes one weak, and we know how she feels about that too.’
Philip doesn’t say a word, only eyes his glass as he rolls the stem of it in his fingers.
‘Philip, seriously, you know this isn’t right?’
‘Philip will do what is best for him and his soon-to-be title, he will be the Duke of Rushford and, as such, he needs to start taking the lead at these functions. The soirée is the perfect beginning.’
‘But...but she’s not even dead yet.’
Philip’s eyes lift to mine, a crease between his brows. There’s a twisted k
ind of torment in his face and it betrays his inner fight with what is right and what he is being told.
Clara reaches across the table, her hand resting on his wrist and drawing his attention. ‘Come on, darling, it’s time you did what you were born to do: take control.’
She runs her teeth over her bottom lip and looks at him adoringly. I can see the power-hungry glint in her eye. She doesn’t love him. She only loves what he can give her, and he has fallen for it. Fallen for what I myself have always sought to avoid.
‘Please, Philip,’ I say, calling his attention back to me. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘It will suit Granny better to be cared for in a specialist unit.’ There is no emotion to his voice as he drags his eyes to mine. ‘It would be better—easier—if you talk to her, convince her it’s the right thing to do.’
I shake my head. I can’t listen to any more, can’t witness the manipulation that’s so obviously in play.
‘No, I won’t do it. It’s her home. She has a right to die there.’
My eyes start to sting and blur, turning them into blobs rather than people. I plant my napkin on my plate and stand. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
‘Sit down, child,’ my stepmother hisses. ‘Dessert is just coming—you’re making a scene.’
I blink back the tears and give her a scathing smile. ‘I hope for your sake that Philip doesn’t learn by your example, because if natural order has its way, there’ll come a time when you’ll be the dying one and he’ll be shovelling you off to an alien environment against your wishes.’
‘Well, really...’ she huffs but I’m already looking to Clara now.
‘And as for you, I’m not blind to what you are. One day the veil will lift and Philip will see it too, then you’ll get what you deserve.’
Her gasp of outrage fills my ears as I turn away and I take some comfort from it. I’ve hit my mark. But I can’t bring myself to say anything more to Philip. I need to be gone.
I need Ash.
My distraction.
It used to be Blacks. Now it’s him.
I get that I’ve only swapped one kind of escapism for another, and that this one has the power to hurt me down the road, but right now I can’t worry about that.
I just need him.
* * *
I know Coco’s upset. Her message tells me so by its urgency.
She’s asked me to pick her up two streets down from the restaurant and here I am, parked up and waiting.
I’m surprised she’s not here already. And then I spy her, scanning the road for cars, for me. She’s pale, sad, her eyes glistening and killing me even from this distance. She sweeps a shaky hand through her hair as she weaves through the pedestrians, the evening rush thick as ever in London.
I reach for the door handle, ready to go and get her, too impatient to wait for her to find me—and then freeze. My eyes zone in on someone else a few beats behind her.
Shit.
My blood runs cold.
Eric Bower.
My number-one rival. I lean back in my seat, as though at any moment he’s going to look straight at me and piece it all together.
I try to tell myself it’s just a coincidence—that the fact he’s walking in the same direction means nothing. But it’s bull. Everything about his overly casual stride and wandering eye tell me he’s on a job. And what are the chances he’s after someone else in the vicinity?
Coco pauses and pulls out her phone.
Bower turns to scan a florist’s window.
No, it’s no coincidence.
Fuck you, Philip.
I punch the edge of the steering wheel and start the ignition, pulling out into traffic before she can see me. The system in my car announces an incoming text message, and I know it’s from her even before I instruct it to read it out loud.
Where are you? I’m here... X
My head drops and I grimace, frustration, anger, guilt making me clench the steering wheel tighter. I try to ease the tension in my shoulders, tell myself I’ll be there for her soon. But I hate it that I’ve just abandoned her when I know she needs me.
I pull over as soon as I’m out of sight, much to the displeasure of the people in the car behind me, and they honk, but I’m already taking my phone out, my brain racing. Where’s safe? Where can I meet her and not have Bower on her tail?
I grip the back of my neck as I think. Blacks—it has to be. Philip already knows she goes there. So long as I stay out of sight and get her to come to me we’ll be fine.
I fire off a reply.
Change of plan. Something came up. Meet me at Blacks?
I can’t breathe as I wait for her response. What if she tells me to go to hell? But why would she? To her, I’ve just been held up. I haven’t run away because her brother has a second PI on her tail.
Her response is swift.
Okay. XX
The XX pulses, stabbing up at me from the screen. Projecting guilt and affection in one.
Time is running out. It won’t take long for Bower to know what I know, even with me being careful. We tap into the same resources; it only takes one misplaced word, a flippant comment, and he’ll figure things out.
Worse still, it only takes her appearing at my home when I don’t expect it—just like she did that Friday night—with Bower on her tail and our relationship will be outed.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and pull back into the traffic. I just need to keep things under my control a little while longer and then I can worry about what comes next.
But how, with Bower so close?
Get out of London. Take her away.
It’s possible. I have the resources to sneak her out and I have the perfect place too. I’m long-overdue a visit there myself.
But would she come?
* * *
I don’t like how disappointed I feel at Ash’s change of plan.
I know it’s not his fault that I’ve become dependent on him to keep reality at bay. But the second I get his text asking to meet at Blacks instead, the tears escape and I’m drawing attention. The kind I don’t need—the kind I’m usually good at keeping at bay.
I pull my coat up around my ears and pick up my pace, heading for the Underground, where I can blend into the background easily enough.
I’ll be with him soon; I can lose myself in him and he’ll make everything feel okay again.
But for how long?
You can’t keep seeking distraction; you have to face reality sooner or later. Granny’s dying and you can’t change it.
I close my eyes over the pang of pain and realise that’s not all I’m running from.
It’s my feelings for him too. The risk that he won’t feel the same way, that I won’t be able to convince him to give us a shot. My feet stall and my heart pulses as my stomach turns over. What if I have to let him go?
I shake my head and focus through a teary haze.
Shit.
I’m being watched. Several passers-by frown in my direction, and a guy’s trying to look like he’s not, but I see him watching me anyway. Probably a reporter, looking for his latest scoop.
Fuck.
I must look insane, with my mental argument written on my face, and tears too.
I take a breath and move.
Get to Blacks. To Ash.
The rest can come later—much later. Alone, if I have to.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘THREE VISITS IN one month?’ Jackson’s brows almost hit the overhanging glassware as I approach the bar. ‘This has to be a record, Ash.’
I’m in no mood for his teasing and he clocks that quickly enough. He says no more as he turns away and pulls down two shot glasses and goes for a bottle.
‘Save it.’ I hold my palm out to him as I slide onto one of his swan
ky high-backed bar stools. ‘Not tonight.’
He turns back to me and rests his elbows on the bar, leaning in to look at me properly. ‘Jesus, what is it this time?’
‘I need your help.’
‘You’re telling me? I thought you were finally getting some...putting a smile back on that grim face of yours—you certainly looked—’
I shake my head and he stops short. ‘What do you need?’
‘You found your leak yet?’
‘No. People talk—it might simply be a case of Chinese whispers getting out of hand—but I have my people looking into some of our newer members.’
‘Sounds wise.’ I pull out my phone and pull up a photo of Bower. ‘You had any enquiry from this guy? The name’s Bower—Eric Bower?’
He frowns at the screen. ‘No. Should I have?’
‘He’s a PI. I think that bastard Philip Lauren’s hired him.’
He cocks a brow. ‘In addition to you?’
I nod. ‘I wouldn’t give him what he needs so he’s obviously decided to get someone else on the case.’
‘Why do I get the feeling it’s not occupational pride that bothers you?’
I swallow. I wish I’d taken up his offer of a drink. I need the hit. I also need something to do with my hands, which are constantly fisting and flexing. But not only do I need to drive, I need my wits about me to ensure we’re not tailed.
‘She doesn’t deserve any of this.’
‘No,’ Jackson says. ‘I tried to tell you that.’
‘Yeah, well...consider me told.’
‘You’re more than told,’ he says, squinting into my eyes like he can see right through me. ‘You’re falling for her, aren’t you?’
I shove up from the stool and turn away from him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I haven’t seen you this on edge since... Well, since that shit went down ten years ago.’
I flick him a look. I want to flip him the bird too, but, hell, I know he’s right. Not that talking about it, thinking about it, is going to help right now.
‘Look, she’s coming here soon. Do me a favour and send her down to the garage on the quiet? I don’t know whether you have a leak or not, and I hope for your sake you don’t, but...’
Getting Dirty Page 11