Insulting his DIY skills did the trick. He glared at her. Good. It was safer that way. ‘Of course I don’t. You want to do it?’
‘I’m helping, aren’t I? And you haven’t answered my question.’
‘You haven’t given me a chance.’ His blue eyes penetrated the gloomy light. ‘And I have been dealing with it. But I didn’t want to jump in with both feet until I’d spoken to all the staff.’
‘Meanwhile, Vivienne continues to slag off Jodi to anyone who’ll listen, telling them she’s a thief.’
He hit the nail. It buckled and fell out, disappearing between the rafters. ‘I didn’t realise she was doing that. I’ll have a word with her.’
‘Good, because according to you a person’s innocent until proven guilty.’
He gave her a loaded look. ‘I agree.’
‘And no one has any proof that Jodi took the money.’
‘I know.’
‘And they won’t find any proof, because she didn’t do it.’
‘I know.’
‘And continuing to slander her is not on. In fact, isn’t it a criminal offence?’
He waved the hammer at her. ‘Are you listening to me? I said, I know.’
‘Fine. Well, do something about it.’
He looked exasperated. He also looked hot, much as she disliked admitting it.
And then her brain caught up with her ears. ‘You know she didn’t take it?’
He rummaged in the toolbox for another nail. ‘Not for certain, but like I said last weekend, I don’t believe she took it. How to prove that, heaven only knows. The safe door was shut prior to Jodi discovering the money was missing. There were no signs of a forced entry, and Vivienne said the money was in the safe first thing that morning. The only other person who’d been in the office was Petrit, and he doesn’t have the safe combination.’ He selected another nail. ‘Leon and Eddie weren’t working, so that discounts them. I’ve talked to everyone who was there, searched the place and questioned Vivienne again about what she allegedly saw, but I’ve drawn a blank.’ He stood up, managing to clip his head again. ‘Shit!’
She waited until he’d stopped rubbing. ‘You haven’t questioned me.’
It was a moment before he spoke. ‘You’re right, I haven’t.’
‘I’m surprised I wasn’t the obvious suspect after Jodi.’
‘Don’t.’ The look he gave her made it clear he didn’t want to go there.
She didn’t either, but how could she not? Her feelings were as raw today as they had been twelve years earlier when he’d believed her guilty of a crime she hadn’t committed.
In May 2006, Jodi was having a particularly bad time and her behaviour was heading towards self-destruction. Drugs had become a factor, so had alcohol. She’d begun taking money from her mum’s purse. When it stopped being sufficient to fund her habit, Jodi had started stealing. Becca had tried to stop her, but her loyalties were torn, not knowing whether she should tell someone or keep quiet. She’d tried to reason with her cousin, but Jodi was already past the point of caring.
One Saturday afternoon while they were shopping in Boots, Becca realised Jodi was putting stuff into her bag without paying for it. She’d insisted Jodi put the stuff back, but Jodi had refused and ran from the store.
Becca had run after her and grabbed her cousin’s bag with the intention of returning the stuff to the shop. Instead, the security guard caught her and her dragged back inside, by which time Jodi had scarpered. The police were called and Becca was placed in a holding cell until her parents arrived. She’d never been so scared in her entire life.
She hadn’t let on that Jodi had taken the stuff. Consequently, she was given a police caution and received a humiliating telling-off by the duty sergeant. Her parents had been beside themselves, terrified that their normally well-behaved daughter was following in her cousin’s wayward footsteps. She’d been grounded for two weeks and not allowed to see either Tom or Jodi for the duration. It had been torture.
It wasn’t until Jodi was sent to prison a couple of years later that the truth emerged. But by then it was too late. Her dad had died, believing her to have committed the crime, and Tom had broken up with her. He’d assumed along with everyone else that she was guilty. And when his own father had banned him from seeing her or Jodi, claiming they were a ‘bad influence’, Tom had disappeared from her life.
When a sober and remorseful Jodi had been released from prison, the first thing she’d done was apologise to Becca. She’d even wanted to confess to the police, but Becca wouldn’t let her. Jodi had been punished enough. She didn’t want to see her cousin go back to prison, so they’d made their peace.
The same couldn’t be said for her and Tom.
She shifted position, hiding her misery from the man who’d broken her heart. ‘So where does that leave us? We have no money and no one accountable for the theft. How do we move forwards?’ When she glanced at him, she realised he’d been watching her.
His expression was unreadable. It was a while before he spoke. ‘I wish I knew. Any suggestions?’
She mustered up an enthusiastic tone. ‘Well, cancelling the showcase isn’t an option.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I admire your determination, but how can we afford it?’
Her arms were beginning to ache. She shifted position. ‘Jodi’s already started on a plan. She’s designed electronic tickets and switched all the advertising to social media outlets. She’s changed the exhibitors’ contracts so they’re responsible for insuring their work, and she’s recruiting volunteers to help on the day. If we pull together, we can make this work.’
He looked sceptical. ‘You really believe that?’
‘Especially if we can temporarily fix the roof so we can use the ballroom and art studio.’ She held his gaze. ‘We can’t let whoever took the money win, Tom.’
He nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘Good.’ It was time to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Now hurry up, my arms are killing me.’
He glared at her, looking scarily like his grumpy ancestors. ‘Then move your fingers, before I squash them.’
She poked her tongue out, which made him laugh.
‘Child.’ He waited until she’d repositioned her hand before tapping the nail with the hammer. ‘How many acts have we got booked for the showcase?’
‘We have the tappers and the kids’ ballet routine, and Jodi’s showing around a landscape artist today who’s interested in exhibiting. We’ve also had an email from another potential artist, and Leon’s asked for a slot.’
‘Leon?’
‘Yes, he’s a singer-songwriter.’
‘I never knew that.’ Tom tugged on the tarpaulin. ‘Are you going to dance at the showcase?’
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ She shook out her arms and handed him another nail. ‘You need to fix the other side.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ He rolled his eyes, and flattened the tarpaulin across the wooden slats. ‘Why aren’t you performing? Is it your knee?’
‘Not really. It’s been a while since I’ve danced properly.’ She didn’t want to admit it was her confidence and not her knee that had yet to recover.
He eased the nail into the splintered wood. ‘I think you should consider it. No disrespect to Leon or the others, but you’re by far the best advert we have for the playhouse.’ The hammer slipped off the nail and hit his thumb. ‘Shit!’
She wasn’t comfortable receiving compliments about her dancing. Not from him. It was too…intimate. ‘You okay?’
He cradled his hand under his armpit. ‘I’m fine.’
They might have formed a fragile truce, joining together to save the playhouse, but she wasn’t ready to venture into more personal territory.
He tested out the tarpaulin. ‘Right, that’ll have to do. How long it’ll last, I have no idea.’ He dropped the hammer into the toolbox. ‘Eddie’s going to cover the flooring with tarpaulin, so if the roof does leak it shouldn’t seep through to the rooms below
. There’s nothing more we can do.’
‘Good. Right…well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’ll head down and see how Jodi’s getting on with the landscape artist.’ She was eager to escape and assimilate her thoughts. Spending too much time with Tom was confusing.
But as she reached the ladder, he called after her. ‘Becca?’ She glanced back, derailed by his sudden smile. ‘Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.’
The sight of his dimples made swallowing hard. ‘No worries,’ she said, reversing down the ladder and wishing she still thought of him as Tom-the-Tyrant, because dealing with his more likeable counterpart was a hell of a lot more challenging. And then guilt nudged her in the ribs. ‘Oh…and thanks for believing in Jodi.’
He held her gaze. ‘You’re welcome.’
It was just a shame he hadn’t believed in her.
That thought alone was enough to dull any fleeting attraction. He’d broken her heart once; she’d be a fool to go there a second time.
Leaving him tidying up, she headed down stairs, trying not to dwell on the past. But it was no good. Reminiscing over the events of twelve years ago had aggravated an old wound. The injustice she’d felt resurfaced. Maybe that’s why she was fighting so hard to clear Jodi’s name. She knew what it felt like to be wrongly accused.
As she neared the café, she could see Jodi talking to a woman in a kaftan. She guessed it was the landscape artist. Vivienne was standing by the kitchen door, her trademark sneer in place as her eyes followed Jodi. What did she think her cousin was going to do, run off with the plastic cutlery?
Leon was behind the bar refilling bottles of spirits, seemingly disinterested in what was going on around him. Her cousin had said she’d sensed a cooling off from her admirer over the past week. Something Becca hoped wasn’t true. Surely Leon knew Jodi was innocent?
And then a man walked into the café. At first, Becca didn’t recognise him, his once dark hair was silver and he wore black square-shaped glasses. But as he turned and caught sight of her cousin, his expression gave him away. Harvey Elliot.
‘What on God’s earth are you doing here?’ he said, loud enough that all heads turned in his direction.
Jodi’s confusion switched to shock when she realised who it was.
Becca ran over to rescue her cousin. ‘Your son is upstairs, Mr Elliot. This way.’ She needed to get him out of there.
But he wasn’t budging. ‘I said, what are you doing here?’
All eyes were on the floorshow.
Becca took Harvey’s arm, trying to steer him out of the café. ‘Jodi works here, Mr Elliot. As do I. Now, shall we go and find Tom?’
He shook her off. ‘Let go of me.’
‘Dad?’ All heads turned. This time at the sound of Tom’s voice.
Vivienne perked up, sensing trouble was looming.
Tom looked confused. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Never mind what I’m doing here,’ Harvey Elliot said, pointing at Becca and Jodi. ‘I want to know why you have two people with criminal records working in your mother’s playhouse?’
Jodi gasped.
Leon dropped a glass.
Vivienne looked like she’d won the lottery.
Chapter Twenty
…continued
It took a lot for Tom to lose his temper, but witnessing his father ‘outing’ Becca and Jodi in front of the playhouse staff sent him spiralling from infuriation into full-blown rage. Who the bloody hell did he think he was?
Without stopping to think, he grabbed his father by the elbow and dragged him from the café. ‘Upstairs, now!’ he bellowed, barely able to speak through his clenched teeth. An argument was about to happen and he didn’t want an audience.
In his periphery, he saw the look of horror on Becca’s and Jodi’s faces, and the smug look on Vivienne’s. Part of him wanted to stay and manage the aftermath of his dad’s bombshell, but the bigger part of him needed to yell at his father.
As they ascended the grand staircase, he vaguely heard his father talking behind him. But he wasn’t listening. He had no interest in anything his father had to say. He was too focused on breathing. His chest was tightening with every step. So much for rest and relaxation. Dealing with a damp roof, an unknown thief and a showcase they couldn’t afford wasn’t conducive to reducing his stress levels. And now he had to deal with his father.
By the time he reached the top, he was so breathless he had to use Uncle Henry’s bust to lean on. Recovering slightly, he marched down the galley corridor to his mother’s study, adrenaline and anger the only things spurring him on.
He pushed open the door and went inside, steeling himself. It was cold in the room, but he didn’t light the fire. He didn’t want his father getting too cosy.
His body was shaking, his chest rising and falling in short bursts. He took out his inhaler and administered a welcome burst of Ventolin. The pain in his chest eased a fraction. He noticed the state of his hands, dirty and bloody from hitting himself with the hammer. His suit trousers and waistcoat were smeared in cobwebs. Christ, he was a mess…unlike Harvey Elliot, who walked into the study looking pristine in his navy blazer and tailored trousers and wearing a totally unremorseful expression.
Tom had to fight the urge to pick up the elephant-shaped paperweight on the desk and smash it over his head. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’
His father looked mildly alarmed. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Downstairs just now. Telling everyone about Becca’s and Jodi’s past. Why did you do that?’ He closed the door, in case Vivienne decided to eavesdrop.
‘A more pertinent question would be: what are they doing working at the playhouse?’
Tom rubbed his chest. ‘That’s none of your concern.’
‘Of course it’s my concern. This is your mother’s business. If you’re making rash decisions that jeopardise the future of the playhouse, then it’s my duty to intervene.’
Tom wondered if he’d heard correctly. ‘Your duty? You have no right whatsoever to dictate what happens here. You gave up that right when you buggered off.’ He marched over to the desk. The room suddenly seemed too small. Or maybe the furniture was too big. He couldn’t decide which.
‘Not this again.’ His father sounded exasperated.
Tom spun around. ‘How dare you walk in here and act like you’re in charge. This is no longer your home.’
‘But it’s still your mother’s. And if you’re engaging the likes of that Roberts girl and Jodi Simmons to work here then your judgement is highly questionable.’
Tom banged his fist on the desk, making the framed photos wobble. His injured thumb began to throb. ‘Firstly, I didn’t hire Becca and Jodi, Mum did. And secondly, my judgement is none of your concern. I don’t care if you agree with my decisions, but I do care about you walking in here and relaying private information about Becca and Jodi to the rest of the staff.’
‘Your mother is an alcoholic. Her decision-making is impaired.’ His father had switched to QC mode, sullying the credibility of the star witness.
Tom wasn’t about to be outwitted. ‘But mine isn’t.’
‘If you’re trusting that pair to work here, then clearly it is.’ His father’s voice was calm, measured, displaying his ability to be ‘reasonable’ despite provocation. ‘Do you need me to remind you they both have criminal records?’
‘And do you need me to remind you about the law of slander?’
That shut his father up. It was a small win, but one he would relish.
‘Becca wasn’t charged, she was given a police caution, and because she was under eighteen at the time there’s no record of the offence on her DBS check. She’s perfectly within her rights to sue you, and I for one would be happy to represent her.’ God, his chest hurt. He glanced around hoping to find a bottle of water.
‘You’re being a little dramatic.’ His father’s patronising tone didn’t waver. ‘And the same cannot be said for Jodi Simmons. She has a record longer th
an my arm.’
‘Now who’s being dramatic?’
His father sat in the wingback chair. ‘My point is, they cannot be trusted.’
To anyone else, there was nothing strange about a man taking a seat in a study. But nothing Harvey Elliot ever did was random. It was a tactic. A manoeuvre designed to unsettle the opposition. He was allowing his son the opportunity to present his ‘opening argument’. No doubt, he hoped Tom would cave under the pressure and hang himself. Well, tough. That wasn’t about to happen.
Tom picked up an almost empty can of lemonade and drank the dregs. It was flat and disgusting. In the absence of water, it would have to do. ‘You haven’t seen them for twelve years. You have no idea what they’re like now. But you don’t care, do you? You’ve made your judgement and as we all know, the great Harvey Elliot is never wrong.’
His father crossed his legs. ‘So there isn’t five thousand pounds missing?’
Tom stilled. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘Vivienne was kind enough to enlighten me.’
‘Oh, I bet she was.’ Bloody woman.
‘Do you think it’s a coincidence that within weeks of those two showing up here money is taken from the safe?’
Tom needed to buy himself some time. He used the tissues on the desk to wipe his hands. The tick of the grandfather clock filled the silence.
Money had never gone missing before. So no, it wasn’t a coincidence. But if Jodi didn’t take the money then who did? He suspected it was a set-up to get rid of Jodi. But he had no evidence. And without proof, he didn’t need his father to point out he had no case.
Binning the tissues, he faced his father, who looked annoyingly relaxed. He was reading the spines of the books filling the wall-to-wall bookcases.
‘Whatever conclusions you’ve reached, you don’t know the facts. I trust Becca and Jodi. They work bloody hard, and they’re doing more to save the playhouse than anyone else. More significantly, Mum trusts them. She appointed them as deputies in her absence and she’s the only person who has the authority to reverse that decision. Not me, and certainly not you.’
Starlight on the Palace Pier Page 19