Sinful Truths

by Anne Mather

  There’d been nothing she could say to convince him otherwise. All the pleas and excuses she’d made at the time he’d found her with Piers had seemed suddenly as empty as her soul. However much he might have wanted to believe in her innocence, the idea of another man’s child growing inside her had been just too much to bear. He hadn’t even been able to stand to look at her, and so he’d moved out of their flat.

  It had been a terrible period. For weeks he’d hardly known what day it was, drowning his sorrows in alcohol, attempting to find solace in other women’s beds.

  It hadn’t worked. Not least because he didn’t like alcohol that much. And the women he’d slept with hadn’t satisfied him the way Isobel had done.

  His work had saved him.

  When he and Isobel had got together McCabe Tectonics had been in its infancy. He’d warned her that he had little money, and that what spare cash he had would have to be invested in the business, but she’d said she didn’t care. She’d even gone against her mother’s wishes and married him, knowing that it might be years before they could afford to have the family they both wanted. She’d worked, too, and they’d pooled their resources, saving for a future that had been cruelly snatched away.

  Ironically, Isobel’s pregnancy had come just weeks after Jake’s business had started to make real money. His first venture into the computer games market had paid dividends, and distributors had soon begun pressuring him to expand his production. It was an area of programming he hadn’t considered exploiting until then, but in what seemed an amazingly short period of time he’d started being considered among the first in his field.

  If he and Isobel had still been together there would have been no reason why they shouldn’t have had a child of their own, he reflected painfully. Maybe even this child. Emily. Who was now standing regarding him with anxious eyes.

  She was probably wondering what she’d said to make him look so fierce, he mused, glad to see that Isobel had replaced the child’s uniform with less formal clothes. In jeans and a royal blue sweatshirt, she looked like any other girl of almost eleven. Like his daughter might have looked, he thought unwillingly, tall and lanky, as he had been at that age…

  He pulled himself up short. Now was not the time to be fantasising about her parentage. Just because he liked the kid, just because he felt sorry for her, that was no reason to become maudlin about the past. Besides, as far as he knew her mother might be rekindling her relationship with her father right at this minute. And why not? He and Isobel had separated over ten years ago.

  But, God, he hoped she wasn’t with Piers Mallory. The man whose name had burned an indelible scar across his soul. How would he feel if Piers was still unmarried? If he and Isobel got together? Not even the thought of Marcie would soften that blow.

  ‘Mummy’s gone to the supermarket,’ Emily continued innocently, and Jake wondered if she’d sensed his anguish. ‘She would have gone sooner, but Granny wanted her supper first and she said she couldn’t eat while the workmen were here.’

  Jake found his palms were sweating and he smoothed them over the seams of his pants. ‘The supermarket?’ he said, as if her words hadn’t briefly robbed him of the will to function. ‘Right.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t know there was a supermarket in the village.’

  ‘There’s not.’ Emily smiled. ‘She’s gone to Pickering. The one there stays open late on Fridays and Saturdays.’

  ‘Pickering?’ Jake was stunned. ‘Surely there are supermarkets nearer than Pickering?’

  ‘Mummy likes the one in Pickering.’ Emily was heading for the back of the house. ‘D’you want some supper? Mrs Edwards has gone, but there’s some cheese and tomato quiche left; Granny says she’s allergic to cooked cheese.’

  So what’s new? thought Jake wryly, following Emily into the kitchen, reassured to find that some things didn’t change. Lady Hannah had never been one to suffer in silence, and he guessed Isobel had her hands full trying to keep the old lady happy.

  As Jake looked about the room, relieved to see that the place looked much more lived-in than it had done a week ago, Emily busied herself laying the pine table with cutlery and condiments. She set the remains of a delicious-smelling quiche in the middle of the table and placed a dish of salad beside a chipped china dinner plate.

  ‘I don’t know about this,’ said Jake, feeling suddenly like an interloper, not at all sure how Isobel would react if she came back to find him here. He chewed on his lower lip. ‘Perhaps I ought to eat at the pub. I can always come back when your mother—’

  ‘There’s no need, honestly.’

  Emily was insistent, and Jake could see in her eyes the fear that he might not come back at all. It was flattering, but not the impression he wanted to give her, and his conscience plagued him with the knowledge that by coming here he was giving Emily false hopes.

  ‘Look,’ he began, but she wouldn’t let him go on.

  ‘I’m sure Mummy won’t be long,’ she said. ‘Besides, don’t you want to see what the workmen have been doing? Even Granny thinks they’re making a good job.’

  ‘Does she?’ Jake grimaced. ‘Well, that’s good news anyway.’ He paused. ‘How about you? Are you happy here?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, without a great deal of enthusiasm. ‘There’s not much to do, but Mummy says it will get better when the weather gets warmer.’ Her eyes widened suddenly. ‘Do you know there’s a swimming pool and a tennis court in the garden?’

  Jake did know, but he also knew that the swimming pool hadn’t been filled for years. He feared the tennis court might be just as derelict. But he didn’t tell Emily that.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said instead, giving her her moment of glory, and she beamed.

  Then, realising he was still standing by the counter, she patted the table. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’

  Jake hesitated. ‘I’m not sure your mother would approve of your feeding me in her absence,’ he murmured. ‘She may have other plans for this quiche.’

  Emily grimaced. ‘I don’t think so.’ She paused. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you. We haven’t had any real visitors since we came here.’ She frowned. ‘Well—apart from Mr Mallory, of course, and he doesn’t count.’

  Jake’s stomach clenched. ‘Mr Mallory?’ he echoed harshly. ‘You don’t mean—Piers Mallory?’

  Emily looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, he did have a funny name,’ she agreed. ‘He said he was a friend of Mummy’s, but I don’t think she—’

  She broke off abruptly, rushing to the window and peering out. As Jake fought the urge to demand that she finish her sentence, the child gave a delighted cry.

  ‘Mummy’s back,’ she announced as Jake, too, heard the sound of the Range Rover’s engine. ‘Oh, she’s going to get such a surprise when she sees you.’

  Jake could believe it. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as convinced as Emily that her mother’s reaction would be a positive one. Besides which, his own mood had soured considerably at the knowledge that Piers Mallory had already attempted to push his bloody aristocratic nose into Isobel’s affairs. He wished he had had more time to assimilate his own feelings before his wife returned.

  ‘Shall we help her?’ asked Emily, unaware of his turmoil, turning away from the window again. ‘She’ll probably have lots of bags.’

  Jake shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he conceded flatly, following the little girl out into the yard at the back of the house. ‘But your mother may not want my help.’

  ‘Of course she will,’ she said, giving him a puzzled look over her shoulder. Then, rushing towards Isobel, she chanted, ‘Look who’s here, Mummy. Daddy’s come to spend the weekend with us.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ISOBEL told herself she should have been prepared for this. She’d seen Jake’s car parked in front of the house when she’d driven past on her way to the rear entrance of the building and she’d known what to expect. But when her husband followed Emily into the yard, and she saw his da
rk saturnine face illuminated by the shaft of light streaming through the door behind him, her knees went weak.

  And, because of that, her response to Emily’s cry revealed her frustration. ‘Has he?’ she said, opening the back of the Range Rover and beginning to unload the supermarket carriers onto the ground. ‘I don’t remember inviting him.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ said Jake, and she was surprised to hear the anger in his voice. ‘But apparently you don’t have to wait for an invitation around here.’

  Isobel straightened as he came across to pick up several of the bags and gave her a narrow-eyed look. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Forget it.’ Jake started for the house. ‘I’ll dump these indoors, shall I?’

  Isobel’s lips tightened. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, not very graciously, aware that Emily was watching her with troubled eyes. Then, as Jake disappeared, she turned to her daughter and said quickly, ‘How long has he been here?’

  Emily pursed her lips. ‘Not long,’ she said sulkily, sensing a reproof. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see him?’

  Isobel had no time to answer that before Jake emerged again, this time buttoning his jacket. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ he said. ‘When you’re in a better mood.’ He touched the child’s shoulder. ‘Bye, Em.’

  ‘Wait!’ Isobel couldn’t let him go like that, though why she cared was something she didn’t want to examine right now. ‘I—have you had supper?’ she asked, picking up the remaining two carriers and closing the Rover door. ‘We can give you something to eat at least.’

  ‘That’s what I was going to do,’ said Emily indignantly, looking to Jake for support. ‘I said he could have some of the quiche we had left from our supper. But he said he wasn’t sure if you’d approve.’

  He’d got that right, thought Isobel dourly, aware that Jake was beginning to figure far too prominently in all their lives. Why couldn’t he have left them to make their own way to Mattingley? Lent them the Range Rover, perhaps, but butted out of the rest of their affairs?

  Yet how would her mother have coped if the house had remained as cold and inhospitable as it had been on their arrival? Would she, Isobel, really have been able to mobilise the tradesmen to do what Jake had persuaded them to do? And on a Sunday, as well? She rather doubted it.

  ‘I’m sure we can find something a bit more appetising than cold quiche,’ she said stiffly, and waited for Jake to step aside before entering the house.

  But at least he followed her inside—due, she suspected, more to Emily’s urging than to anything she had said. He stood watching her reaction as she registered the efforts her daughter had made, and then said quietly, ‘This wasn’t my idea.’

  ‘I believe you.’ Isobel struggled to behave naturally, for the child’s sake if nothing else. ‘But I’ve got some steak, if you’d prefer it.’ She forced a faint smile. ‘Or are you one of those real men who do eat quiche?’

  Jake seemed to recognise her attempt at appeasement, and acknowledged it with a slight inclination of his head. ‘This is fine,’ he said, as if unwilling to denigrate Emily’s contribution. ‘But are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to eat at the pub? As I’m staying there anyway—’

  ‘You’ve booked a room?’

  Isobel was aware that her response was far too revealing, but it was too late to withdraw it now and Jake arched an enquiring brow.

  ‘Not yet,’ he admitted. ‘But I doubt if they’re overrun with visitors at this time of year.’

  ‘Well, no.’ Isobel conceded the point. ‘I’m sure they’ll be glad of the business.’

  ‘Why can’t Daddy stay here?’ protested Emily at once, evidently deciding her mother had forgiven her for inviting him in. ‘His bed’s still made up. You know it is.’

  Isobel’s face flamed and she struggled to concentrate on unpacking the bags. ‘I know that, Emily,’ she said tightly, feeling mortified by the child’s submission and desperate to cover it. ‘But—but your father might not be on his own. He may have brought his—well, his lady-friend with him. I’m sure Ms Duncan would find our hospitality less than—appealing.’

  ‘If you mean Marcie, she’s not here,’ retorted Jake flatly, and despite herself she breathed a little more easily. His lips twisted. ‘I think what your mother’s trying to say, Em, is that she doesn’t want me here.’

  Isobel caught her breath. How dared he? she wondered indignantly. He must know she had every right to question his motives. She still didn’t know what he was doing here. If he’d come to check on his investment then he could damn well turn around and go away again.

  ‘I don’t believe I said any such thing,’ she declared now, anger giving her the courage to meet his mocking gaze. ‘But I am curious as to why you’d choose to spend another weekend away from your—usual haunts.’

  She had been going to say ‘your girlfriend’s bed’, but she had to think of Emily so she’d modified her words. Nevertheless, she was sure Jake knew what she was thinking, and she was childishly pleased when his mouth compressed into a thin line.

  ‘Marcie’s in Jamaica,’ he replied evenly, and once again her stomach hollowed. So much for thinking he had some personal reason for coming here, she thought. She’d probably been right in her earlier assumption. He wanted to know how his money was being spent.

  Realising they were both waiting for her response, she murmured, ‘How nice,’ in tones that indicated the opposite, and hated the wry expression that revealed he’d noticed.

  ‘Where’s Jamaica?’ asked Emily, easing the moment, and when Isobel didn’t speak Jake was obliged to answer her.

  ‘It’s in the West Indies,’ he said, unbuttoning his jacket again and straddling a chair at the table. ‘You know where the West Indies are, don’t you?’

  ‘She hasn’t had your experience,’ said Isobel tartly, unwilling to let him have it all his own way, and knew she’d scored a point by the look he gave her.

  ‘I know where they are,’ protested Emily, sensing another argument and trying to prevent it. ‘The West Indies are in the Caribbean. Is that where Jamaica is, too?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jake gave Isobel another wry look. ‘Your mother knows that very well.’

  Emily glanced at her mother, but when Isobel avoided her gaze she turned back to her father. ‘Have you been there?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Isobel heard the reluctance in his voice now. ‘So has your mother.’

  ‘Have you, Mummy?’

  Emily was gazing at her in surprise, and Isobel despised Jake for bringing that up. They’d spent their honeymoon in Jamaica: a trip that had cost them every penny they’d had but which had proved just as wonderful as Isobel had imagined.

  ‘Once,’ she admitted now in answer to her daughter’s enquiry. ‘On a shoestring. I’m sure your father’s had other holidays there in much more luxurious surroundings than the Pine Key Apartments.’

  ‘You remembered,’ remarked Jake smugly, and Isobel’s face flushed anew.

  ‘You forget, I don’t have the memories of dozens of other transatlantic trips to confuse me,’ she retorted crisply. ‘Since Emily was born we’ve had to conserve our resources.’

  Now Jake’s face darkened with colour, and not even Emily’s presence could soften his response. ‘I don’t know why,’ he said harshly. ‘You certainly took me for enough when I got the separation.’

  Isobel sucked back a sob. That was so untrue. Oh, sure, she’d let him buy her the apartment, and his contribution to their monthly expenses was generous by any measure. In recent years, however, Emily’s schooling, and her mother’s illness, had drained her financially—and emotionally—but Jake knew nothing of that.

  Scrubbing a hand across her eyes, she turned to stow her purchases in the fridge, glad of the activity to avoid any further contact with her husband. But she heard the scrape of his chair across the floor, heard Emily’s cry of protest, and knew what was going on. She could do nothing to change the situation.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ he said over Emily’s tearful a
ppeals to him to stay, and Isobel could only nod her assent. Let him go, she thought. She wished he’d go back to London. He brought nothing but pain and disillusionment to their lives. It was better that way.

  She thought he took something out of his pocket and dropped it onto the table, but she couldn’t be sure. Emily was crying in earnest now, and it was impossible to think of anything else at that moment. How on earth was she was going to console her daughter after he’d gone?

  It wasn’t until she heard the Porsche roar away into the night that she turned and saw his legacy to her. Lying in the middle of the pine table was a roll of banknotes. That was what he had taken out of his pocket; that was what he thought of her pitiful attempts to defend herself.

  Emily had run outside after him, but Isobel knew there was no point in her doing the same. Not tonight, at any rate. Jake had gone, and the money—God knew how much there was—would have to remain in her possession until she could return it to him.

  Jake was standing at the windows of his room at the Black Bull when the first faint streaks of morning appeared on the horizon.

  Beyond the inn yard, West Woodcroft’s high street was deserted as yet. It was too early for any shoppers to make the journey into either Guisborough or Whitby; too early even for the milk float that did the rounds as soon as it was light.

  Not that Jake was much interested in the activities of the village. He wouldn’t be standing here at all if it weren’t for Emily, and he despised himself for his cowardice in giving in to the child’s pleas. He didn’t know what had possessed him to tell her that he wouldn’t drive back to London the night before, and he decided that as soon as the landlord was up and he was able to pay his bill, he’d do just that. Staying here was only complicating an already difficult situation, and it wasn’t fair on any of them to prolong it.

  Isobel didn’t want him here. She’d made that perfectly plain. She was probably making new friends. His nerves tensed. Or renewing her acquaintance with old ones. And, for all Emily had embarrassed her by stating that she hadn’t stripped the bed he’d used the week before, he was sure that was more an oversight than a deliberate choice on her part.