by Anne Mather
‘I don’t mind.’ Emily shook her head. ‘Who are you going to call?’
My mistress?
Jake tried the answer on for size and instantly rejected it. His quarrel had never been with the child, after all. She was the innocent victim here and he had no desire to hurt her.
‘A friend,’ he said instead, sitting down again. ‘No one you know.’
‘A woman-friend?’
Emily was persistent, and once again Jake had to guard his tongue.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked, maintaining a neutral tone with an effort. He paused significantly. ‘Can I have a little privacy here?’
‘May I have a little privacy,’ Emily corrected him primly. ‘Granny says you keep beans in cans.’
Granny had far too much to say for herself, thought Jake savagely. But he was relieved when Emily got to her feet and started towards to the door.
‘I’ll go and see what we’re having for supper,’ she said with evident reluctance. ‘It’s probably going be late when Mummy gets back.’
Jake opened his mouth to say it had better not be, and then closed it again. Emily had left the room in any case. Besides, he was half convinced she’d only been baiting him. For a ten—almost eleven—year-old, she was remarkably mature.
Marcie sounded less than pleased when she came on the line. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be late. Honestly, Jake, I thought you said it wouldn’t take long.’
Jake sighed. He could hear the sounds of the hair salon in the background: the constant buzz of voices, the hum of the driers, the subtle Muzak that was supposed to relax the clients.
‘There’s been a complication,’ he said, hoping she could hear him. ‘Isobel’s not here.’
‘She’s not there?’ Obviously she could hear him loud and clear. ‘So what’s the problem? You’ll have to see her some other time.’
‘No, I can’t. That is—’ Jake knew it wasn’t going to be easy convincing her that he had to stay. ‘Emily’s here.’
‘The kid?’
‘Isobel’s daughter, yes.’ Jake didn’t really like the dismissive way Marcie had spoken of her. ‘She’s on her own.’
‘So?’
‘So I’ve got to stay until her mother gets back,’ said Jake evenly. ‘You’d better order a cab to take you home from the salon.’
‘No!’ Marcie sounded furious. ‘Jake, do you have any idea how difficult it is to order a cab at this time of the evening?’
‘I know.’ Jake blew out a weary breath. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do.’
‘There is something you can do,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You can leave your wife’s bastard on her own and get over here and pick me up like you promised.’
‘Don’t call her that!’ Jake couldn’t prevent the automatic reproof. ‘For God’s sake, Marcie, she’s not to blame because Isobel’s gone to her mother’s.’
‘And nor am I,’ responded Marcie grimly. ‘Come on, Jake, you know she’s trying it on. She probably guessed how you’d feel when you found—Emily—on her own.’
‘She didn’t have a lot of choice,’ said Jake, wondering why he was defending his wife to his girlfriend. ‘The old lady’s ill, apparently. I guess it could be her heart.’
‘My heart bleeds.’ Marcie snorted, but then, as if realising how unsympathetic she sounded, she took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she said, capitulating, ‘I’ll take a cab home. And you’ll pick me up in—what? An hour and a half?’
‘Something like that,’ agreed Jake, glancing at his watch. Surely Isobel would be back by half-past six.
‘You haven’t forgotten we’re going out this evening, have you, Jake?’ Marcie had heard the unspoken doubt in his voice and reacted to it. ‘You’ll need at least an hour to shower and change.’
‘I know that.’ Jake was beginning to feel harassed. ‘Back off, will you, Marcie? I’ll be there.’
‘Oh, Jake.’ Marcie groaned. ‘I’m sorry if I sound like a bitch. I’ve just been looking forward to this evening so much. I haven’t spent the best part of the day in the beauty salon to have—well, to have Isobel spoil it.’
‘She won’t spoil it. I promise.’ Jake hoped he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. ‘Gotta go now. I’ll see you later.’
He didn’t give her a chance to argue. Out of the corner of his eye he’d glimpsed Emily hovering just beyond the doorway into the kitchen, and he had no intention of providing her with any juicy gossip to relay to her mother.
As soon as he’d flipped the phone closed she showed herself, however. ‘Finished?’ she asked, and he nodded, wondering if he was being naïve in thinking she hadn’t been listening all along.
But it was too late to do anything about it now and, picking up his coffee, he took a grateful gulp. Thankfully, it was cool enough to drink, and surprisingly good besides. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she’d done it before.
‘Would you like some more?’ she asked as he set down the empty mug, but Jake declined.
‘Not right now,’ he said, and as she turned away to return the mug to the kitchen he found himself watching her with a curiously critical eye.
In her school uniform, she could have been any one of the hundred or so children who attended the Lady Stafford Middle School. But, despite himself, Jake knew he’d have no difficulty in picking her out of a crowd. Although he’d only seen her a handful of times in the past ten years, he’d have recognised her anywhere, and if it hadn’t been so annoying it would have been pathetic.
Dammit, she wasn’t his daughter. She had never been his daughter, and if Isobel hadn’t been so hell-bent on lying to her, he and the child might well have achieved a friendly relationship. As it was, Emily hated him and he resented her.
She came back then, resuming her seat opposite him, and rather than suffer the discomfort of another prolonged appraisal Jake chose another tack.
‘So, what do you do in your spare time?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Do you have a computer?’
‘Of course I have a computer. Everybody does.’
Emily was scathing, and Jake tried again. ‘How about computer games?’ he suggested. ‘I’m pretty good at them myself.’
‘You play computer games?’
She couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice, and Jake felt an unwilling sense of indignation. Evidently Isobel had been selective in choosing what information to give the child, and he would enjoy exploding her bubble.
‘I invent them,’ he said flatly. ‘Among other things. Didn’t your mother tell you?’
‘No.’ There was a reluctant glimmer of interest in Emily’s eyes. ‘What games have you invented?’
Jake frowned, pretending to think. ‘Let me see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Have you heard of Moonraider? Space Spirals? Black Knights?’
Emily’s jaw had dropped. ‘You invented Black Knights?’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Jake shrugged. ‘You’ve played it, then?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Emily glanced over her shoulder. ‘Mummy bought me a Dreambox for Christmas.’
Jake pulled a wry face. ‘That was good of her.’
‘Why? Oh, God!’ Emily pressed both hands to her cheeks. ‘Did you invent Dreambox?’
‘I own Dreambox,’ Jake told her ruefully. ‘And I don’t think your mother would approve of you saying “Oh, God”, do you?’
‘Granny would report me to Father Joseph,’ agreed Emily, pulling a face. ‘I’d probably have to say a hundred Hail Marys for taking the Lord’s name in vain. But still—’ She stared at him admiringly. ‘You own Dreambox! Cool!’
Jake was surprised at how flattered he was by her reaction. She was only a child, but the hero-worship in her eyes felt good. He was genuinely pleased that she approved of him. It made him want to go out and buy her every game he’d marketed to date.
‘You wouldn’t—like—play Black Knights with me?’ she suggested suddenly. ‘Just till Mummy gets b
ack, I mean. It would give us something to do.’
Jake hesitated. He had the feeling Isobel would not approve of this development. Okay, maybe she’d had some crazy idea that if she threw him and Emily together he might change his mind about her. But the arrangement had to be on her terms, not his.
To hell with that!
Looking at the girl’s expectant face, he made a gesture of acceptance. ‘Why not?’ he said, getting to his feet again. ‘Where’s your computer? In your room?’
Some time later, when Jake’s cellphone began to ring, he was shocked to find it was nearly seven o’clock. He’d been so absorbed in the game, which he’d discovered Emily played extremely well, that he’d forgotten the time. Dodging witches and goblins, vaulting over chasms where dragons lurked, laughing at the obstacles someone’s vivid imagination had created, he’d realised how much fun it was to play with someone who genuinely wanted to beat him. Apart from his second-in-command at McCabe Tectonics, everyone else he employed seemed keener on winning his approval than winning the game.
With a word of apology to the child, he strode back into the living room, where he’d left the phone, and glanced at the small screen with some misgivings. As he’d expected, it was Marcie’s number displayed there and she wasn’t pleased. ‘Where are you?’ she demanded. ‘I thought you were picking me up at seven o’clock.’
‘Seven-thirty,’ he amended, not knowing why he’d bothered making the distinction. Even if he left now, he wasn’t going to make it.
‘Okay, half-past seven,’ she conceded irritably. ‘So, are you on your way? I know you’re not at the house. I already tried there.’
Right.
Jake expelled a weary breath, and as he did so he heard the sound of Isobel’s key in the lock.
Well, it had to be Isobel, he mused blackly, aware that she couldn’t have chosen a more awkward time to return. Here he was, trying to placate his girlfriend, with his wife as an unwilling audience.
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY came into the room at that moment, too. She must have heard Isobel, and she bounded eagerly across the living room to meet her.
‘Daddy and I have been playing computer games,’ she exclaimed, by way of a greeting, and Jake didn’t have time to cover the mouthpiece of his phone before Marcie latched on to the anomaly.
‘Daddy and I?’ she spat angrily. ‘What’s going on, Jake? I thought you said you weren’t the kid’s father.’
‘I’m not.’
Jake balked before saying anything more with his wife regarding him from the hall doorway. Dammit, there was no easy way to do this. Whatever he said, he was going to offend somebody.
‘Jake.’ Isobel was civil enough, but he could see the strain in her face. ‘It was good of you to stay.’
Yeah, right.
Jake bit back the sardonic response, giving her a brief nod of acknowledgement as Marcie spoke again. ‘Is Isobel there?’ she demanded. ‘Jake—’
‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ he interrupted her, aware that he was building up trouble for himself later, but unable to do anything about it right now. ‘Take a cab to the hotel, will you? I’ll join you there as soon as I can.’
‘Jake—’
‘Just do it,’ he said tightly, and felt a momentary pang of remorse when she rang off without saying another word.
Flipping his phone closed, he was aware that Isobel was still watching him. ‘I’m sorry if we’ve upset your dinner arrangements,’ she said stiffly. ‘I was as quick as I could be, but my mother isn’t well.’
‘I’m sorry.’
It was a standard response and her lips twisted a little wryly at his words. ‘Yes—well, that’s not your problem.’ Her face softened as she looked at Emily. ‘I hope you’ve been a good girl.’
Emily grimaced. ‘I’m not a baby, Mummy. Like I said before, Daddy and I have been playing Black Knights.’ Her face brightened. ‘He owns Dreambox. Did you know that?’
Isobel’s lips thinned. ‘Yes. He’s very clever,’ she said drily, unbuttoning her navy overcoat and unwinding a silk scarf from around her neck. ‘Now, why don’t you go and make me some tea, Em? I think—’ She looked questioningly at Jake. ‘I think we have to talk.’
Emily pulled a face. ‘Do I have to?’
‘Em!’
‘Oh, all right.’
Emily flounced out of the room and Isobel finished taking off her coat. Underneath, she was wearing a cream silk shirt and a navy skirt that ended an inch or two above her knees, but Jake barely noticed. What disturbed him was how thin she had become; the bones of her shoulders were clearly evident beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.
Yet she was still beautiful, he reflected unwillingly. The pale oval of her face was framed by ebony-dark hair, drawn back from a centre parting and secured in a loose chignon at her nape. Luminous blue eyes and high cheekbones only emphasised the generous width of her mouth, and her porcelain skin gave her a fleeting resemblance to the Madonna.
But Jake knew she was no saint. Isobel was—had always been—a warm, passionate woman, and although he despised her for the way she’d treated him, he had never lost his admiration for her grace and elegance.
Now, however, he was concerned by her appearance, and with the comments that Emily had made still ringing his ears he said abruptly, ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’
Isobel carefully folded her coat and laid it over a chair. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, avoiding his eyes. Then, straightening, ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to hang about, but there was nothing I could do. Mama phoned and…’
Her voice trailed away and Jake’s mouth compressed. ‘And you couldn’t let her down,’ he remarked sardonically. ‘Tell me something new.’
Isobel’s lips tightened. ‘You don’t understand. She’s been extremely—fragile—since her—well, in recent months.’
‘Since her operation, you mean?’ Jake regarded her with cynical eyes. ‘Emily told me.’
‘I see.’ Isobel hesitated. ‘Then you’ll know that by-pass operations on the elderly can have—complications.’
‘So that’s what it was.’ Jake nodded. ‘I didn’t know.’
Isobel frowned. ‘But you said—Emily—’
‘She was pretty vague.’ He shrugged, and then glanced about him. ‘Look, why don’t you sit down? You look tired.’
‘Thanks.’
It was hardly a compliment, but Isobel was glad to accept his advice. She was tired; exhausted, actually. She had been for weeks; months. Ever since she’d heard that her husband was involved with Marcie Duncan.
Of course, he’d had affairs before. Several, actually, over the years, and she’d suffered through every one of them. But his relationship with Marcie was something different. It had gone on for so much longer, for one thing, and for another a friend had told her that Marcie was telling everyone that he was going to marry her.
Except he was still married to Isobel.
Expelling a quivering breath, she moved into the room and seated herself on the sofa nearest to the door. Then, as he lounged into the chair opposite, she forced a formal smile.
But it was difficult. Bloody difficult, actually, she thought with a sudden spurt of anger. Sitting opposite the man you had once thought you loved better than life itself was never going to be easy, and she despised the fact that he could come here and behave as if all they had ever been to one another was polite strangers.
He looked so damned relaxed, she mused tensely. In the kind of casual gear he wore to work, which her mother had always deplored on a man in his position, he looked completely at his ease and she resented it.
A black tee shirt was stretched across his broad shoulders and exposed the ribbed muscles of his stomach. He didn’t appear to have an ounce of spare flesh on him, and tight-fitting moleskin pants hugged his narrow hips and long powerful legs. A leather jacket, still displaying the fact that it had been raining when he arrived, was hung over the back of a chair and one booted foot re
sted casually across his knee.
He was not a handsome man, she assured herself, unwilling to admit that his strong, hard features possessed something more than mere good looks. His skin was darker than the rest of his colouring, his hair streaked in shades of silvery blond and amber, and eyes as green as his Irish roots should have indicated a fair countenance. But somewhere in Jake’s mongrel ancestry—as her mother would say—there had been a darker strain. Just another reason why Lady Hannah Lacey had opposed his marriage to her only daughter.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ she asked at last, rather than broach the subject she was sure was his reason for being here, and Jake regarded her through narrowed lids.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Our appointment was for five o’clock, wasn’t it?’
Isobel sighed. ‘Do we have to have appointments?’ She smoothed her damp palms over the slim lines of her skirt. ‘This isn’t a business meeting, is it?’
Jake didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, ‘I guess you know why I’m here,’ and a shiver feathered its way down her spine.
‘Do I?’ She refused to make it easy for him. ‘Dare I suspect that you’ve finally decided to acknowledge that you have a daughter?’
‘No!’ Jake’s appearance of relaxation disappeared. His boot thudded onto the carpet and he leaned forward in his seat, legs spread wide, forearms resting along his thighs. ‘We dealt with that fiction some time ago, and I don’t intend to let you divert me with it now. I’m here because it’s past time we put an end to this travesty—’
‘What are we having for supper, Mummy?’
Isobel didn’t know if Emily had been eavesdropping on their conversation or whether her intervention was as innocent as it appeared. Either way, it achieved the dual purpose of providing a distraction and putting Jake off his stride.
He swore, quite audibly, and Isobel glared at him reprovingly before transferring her attention to her daughter. ‘Have you made the tea?’ she asked, ignoring her husband’s scowling face. ‘We can decide what we’re having for supper later.’