Keep Me Close : An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Jane Holland

  ‘I loved it,’ I tell him enthusiastically, and take his hand across the table. ‘Thank you so much for the tickets. What a lovely birthday present. And so unexpected!’

  ‘November,’ he says musingly, playing with his champagne flute. ‘What star sign does that make you? Are we supposed to be compatible? I’m a Virgo.’ When I grin, he raises his eyebrows. ‘No giggling, please. It’s purely an astrological definition. As you can surely testify.’

  He’s so charming like this, I can’t seem to stop smiling, my lips fixed in a permanent up-tick. ‘Scorpio,’ I say, and raise my own brows when he draws back his hand in mock horror. ‘Hey, don’t look at me like that. I know Scorpios have the worst reputation in the zodiac. But I can assure you, none of it is true.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘Well, maybe the sexy bit.’

  He throws his head back and gives a hearty laugh. ‘I’m happy to swear to that effect in court.’ His eyes twinkle at me. ‘But what about the temper? Aren’t Scorpios notorious for losing their rag?’

  ‘Mum always said I used to throw the odd tantrum when I was a toddler. But I like to think I’ve mellowed over time. And since school, I’ve become almost a model citizen.’

  ‘Ah, almost.’ He nods. ‘That word leaves you a lot of leeway, I’m guessing. Should I be worried for my life?’

  ‘That depends on what you do.’

  His gaze drops to my cutlery. I’ve been playing idly with my knife throughout this conversation, and he pretends to look uncertain.

  ‘Can I just put it on record that you, Kate Kinley, are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met? And I’ve never heard you so much as raise your voice, so that bad temper thing must be a total fabrication.’ He mimes wiping imaginary sweat from his brow when I put down the knife. ‘Thank God; I was afraid you were going to stab me with that.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t have done that,’ I say sweetly. ‘Not before the bill arrives, anyway.’

  He laughs, and takes my hand, squeezing it. ‘Funny too. My ideal woman. Why did I wait so long before asking you out on a date?’

  My smile stiffens. ‘Well, let’s see. It might have something to do with the fact that my boyfriend – your best friend – killed himself. That probably put you off dating me. It seems to have put everyone else off.’

  My brittle words fall like icicles between us, and I feel his hand release mine. I’m not looking at him, my gaze on the white tablecloth. But I feel his intent gaze on my face.

  ‘Kate,’ he begins, but I interrupt him.

  ‘No, let me apologise. That was uncalled for.’ I swallow against my embarrassment, and am horrified to feel tears brimming against my lashes. ‘I’m sorry. What were we saying about Scorpios and a bad temper? I’m my own worst enemy, I really am. Now that has been said about me with alarming frequency, if you’re looking for a character reference.’

  ‘What, that you are your own worst enemy?’ he repeats, watching me.

  ‘Basically, yes.’ I lift a hand to wipe away my tears, and realise he’s holding out a hanky. I take it, dabbing at my eyes, and hope that my mascara isn’t running. Judging by the wet black smears on his hanky, I’d lose that bet. ‘It’s not your fault. I’m still touchy about David, I suppose. It’s those letters… God, those letters! Whoever wrote them is reading my mind.’

  His dark brows knit together. ‘Because you blame yourself?’

  ‘Who else is to blame? I knew he was depressed and I did nothing. Well, I took a step back. And look how that worked out.’ I blow my nose, and give a hysterical laugh. ‘I seem to do a lot of crying on dates with you. I’m sorry. It’s not a nervous tic, believe me. I’ve just had a bad year. Or a bad few years. Here’s to next year instead.’

  I lift my champagne flute and clink it awkwardly against his, almost knocking it over. Luckily, Logan grabs the glass before it can fall, his eyes on my face.

  ‘And to us,’ I add, suddenly uneasy in the spotlight and keen to move his attention away from me.

  ‘To next year, and to us,’ he repeats, seeming to find this double toast fascinating. He holds his glass aloft for a few seconds longer, and then gulps down his wine with a fervour to match my own. ‘Look, Kate, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. And maybe this is the worst possible time—’

  ‘Because I’m drunk and emotional?’ I interrupt him.

  He blinks. ‘Because it’s your birthday, and I don’t want to spoil the moment for you.’

  Spoil the moment?

  ‘Oh God.’ I thump my glass down on the table and bury my face in my hands. I’m half-laughing, half-crying now; the other diners around us must think I’m off my head. But the pain inside is all too horrible and real. ‘You’re going to break up with me, aren’t you? That’s what this “dinner and a show” thing is about. You’re kissing me goodbye.’

  ‘No,’ he exclaims, and grabs my hand across the table. I glance up at him in surprise as he adds, ‘It’s the polar opposite. I thought you knew. I thought you could tell just by looking… Women are supposed to be the observant ones, aren’t they?’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ I stammer, staring at him.

  ‘I’m in love with you.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? Or don’t you believe me?’ Logan groans, and closes his eyes briefly. ‘This isn’t a good start, is it? I tell you I’m in love with you, and you think I must be pulling your leg.’

  I shake my head, speechless.

  He takes a deep breath, then produces a small black box from his jacket pocket and pushes it across the table towards me.

  ‘I’m… in love with you,’ he says again, with the air of a man who had a carefully rehearsed speech but has now abandoned it or possibly forgotten what he intended to say, and who is now improvising wildly. ‘I know this is super fast. I know we’ve only just found each other again after… well, after David. I know you’re probably not over him, and I don’t expect you to be. But I’m willing to make a go of it if you are, and in short…’ He nods at me to open the black box. ‘Will you marry me, Kate Kinley?’

  I can’t seem to breathe. ‘M-Marry you?’

  I glance around us at the other diners, and people whose heads had been turned towards us in fascination swiftly look away.

  ‘Are you serious?’ I open the box, and stare down in utter bemusement at the silver and emerald engagement ring sparkling in a nest of black silk. ‘Oh my God. You are serious. Logan, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Saying yes,’ he says quietly, ‘would be a fantastic start.’ Then he seems to pull back, as though forcing himself to be patient. ‘But I know you may need time to think about this.’

  ‘I need lots of time. It’s so sudden.’

  ‘I accept that, absolutely.’ Logan nods, leaning back in his seat. His face is a little flushed, maybe from the champagne. Maybe from the stress of proposing. ‘But it’s not sudden for me. I’ve always held a torch for you, even back when you were seeing David. We clashed over it a few times, in fact.’

  My eyes widen. ‘You argued with David over me?’

  There’s a look of chagrin on his face. ‘I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. But I felt David wasn’t treating you as well as you deserved, and occasionally gave him the benefit of my advice about it. Which of course he rejected out of hand. But that was David.’ There’s a brooding, distant look on his face now, as though he’s looking back at the past. ‘He hated anyone telling him what to do. Especially when it came to you.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Why should you?’ Logan lifts his chin and smiles at me, rather too brightly. ‘All water under the bridge now. But no, it’s not sudden for me. And as soon as we started seeing each other, and then when you were so happy to let me move in, I thought…’ He stops, seeming to correct himself. ‘I knew from early on that this was right. You and me. That I wanted to marry you.’

  I touch the engagement ring wonderingly with a fingertip. ‘Logan, it’s beautiful.’ Then I cl
ose the box. ‘But I can’t say yes.’

  He looks devastated, but asks calmly enough, ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘No, I mean it.’ I push the box back towards him. ‘I’ve messed up my life in so many ways. David was the pinnacle of my mistakes, yes. But there’ve been others. And I don’t want to add you to the list.’ My smile is wan. ‘I’d rather just keep things as they are, if that’s okay. Girlfriend, boyfriend. And maybe take it from there?’

  ‘Of course,’ he says, nodding, and puts the box away again, but the expression on his face nearly breaks my heart. ‘Girlfriend, boyfriend is something. No, more than something. It’s marvellous.’ He pours out the last of the champagne, sharing it equally between our glasses, and then dumps the bottle upside down in the ice bucket. ‘Thank you for not breaking up with me, at least.’

  ‘Good God, why would I do that?’

  ‘For being so selfish and spoiling your birthday with an unwanted marriage proposal. And nobody would blame you in the slightest. I should never have asked. Stupid of me.’ Logan manages a smile despite the bitterness in his voice, and lifts his glass. ‘Happy birthday, Kate.’

  I drink too, smiling back at him, and wonder if I’ve done the wrong thing in rejecting him. He’s been no trouble since moving in, after all, and he’s pretty good in bed. But I was simply shocked, the way he sprang that proposal on me so quickly and without warning. I couldn’t think straight, and I still can’t.

  Marry Logan?

  No, my brain refuses to grapple with the idea. It’s simply too soon and I’m not ready to think about him in those terms yet.

  There may be another reason for my refusal, though. A deeper and more disturbing reason. Because it was roughly when David and I started to discuss marriage that things began to fall apart for us.

  Maybe it’s ridiculously superstitious of me to push Logan away just at the time when we ought to be growing closer.

  But I’m afraid.

  I don’t want lightning to strike twice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I manage to keep Mr Adeyemi away from my mother for several weeks, but in late November, he sneaks in another surprise visit while I’m at work. Ruby calls to let me know, sounding flustered, and I ask her to put the solicitor on the phone.

  While I wait, I stare out across the familiar vista of London’s rooftops, skyscrapers and church spires, but I’m not really taking in the spectacular view. I’m still smarting from having Calum Morgan’s book taken away from me. In some ways, of course, it’s made my life less stressful. I no longer have to fear what my email inbox may bring each morning, and there are no more uncomfortable phone calls from Calum to squirm through, or endless demands from Mark to know where I’m at with the manuscript.

  The ice wall between me and Mark has not thawed, however; I’m still getting sharp stares from across the office and facing thinly-veiled hostility in meetings. Not for the first time, I wish I knew why he dislikes me so much. My best guess is that he’s finding Calum every bit as challenging to work with as I did, or that the task of ‘tidying up’ Calum’s manuscript is proving more onerous than he expected.

  Mr Adeyemi’s deep voice comes on the line, startling me. ‘Hello, Miss Kinley? Can I help you?’

  I greet him curtly, still suspicious he may have manhandled my mother during his last visit. But suspecting something and being able to prove it are two different things, as Logan has impressed on me whenever I’ve considered going to the police about him.

  ‘Mr Adeyemi,’ I say, ‘I’d rather you don’t visit my mother without me being present. Unfortunately, I’m at work right now. Could I ask you to reschedule for a day when I can be there?’

  He doesn’t seem cowed by this speech. ‘May I remind you that your mother is my client, and she has a legal right to see me privately?’

  Yes, I think. But not to be mauled about by her solicitor.

  Silently, I count to five, rather than let myself explode. There’s no point getting sued over voicing my thoughts too unguardedly.

  ‘That’s as may be. But Mum was upset after your previous visit, Mr Adeyemi. She’s not good with visitors these days. That’s why I’m asking you to reschedule. Not because I’m trying to interfere with her right to speak to you privately, but because I have a duty of care towards her. My mother has dementia, and I need to ensure that she’s kept safe.’

  He doesn’t answer at first, but clears his throat. The noise is jarring. ‘Miss Kinley, are you suggesting that your mother isn’t safe during my visits? Because I must tell you that I find that idea offensive and abhorrent.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I lie, gritting my teeth against the desire to yell at him. ‘And I’m sorry you feel like that. I’m merely asking you to come back another day when I can be there to support my mother.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern for her; it does you credit. But it’s wholly unwarranted. The suggestion that she would need your support to manage a few minutes alone with her solicitor is ridiculous.’ He pauses and clears his throat again, and it strikes me as a nervous sound. ‘Besides, I only need to speak with her very briefly on this occasion. There are some papers of hers that she wanted to see again.’

  I’m amazed. ‘Wait. You’re saying my mum asked to speak to you?’ I don’t believe him. ‘How? Because I haven’t seen her use the telephone in months. And even then, I had to dial the number for her.’

  ‘There’s no mystery, I assure you. Last time we spoke, Celeste indicated that she would like me to return for further discussion. Unfortunately, I wasn’t free to do so until today.’

  ‘Further discussion about what?’

  ‘Obviously, I can’t be specific, as there’s client confidentiality to consider. While I understand your protective urge, I also need to fulfil my professional obligations to your mother.’

  Bloody patronising man. My protective urge is about ready to kick him in the…

  ‘Of course.’ How convenient, I think bitterly, but try to stay calm. There’s not much I can do at this distance. ‘Very well. Will you mind if her carer, Ruby, stays in the room during your discussion?’

  ‘I can’t allow that, I’m afraid. But I’m willing to schedule any future visits to fit in with your timetable. Or better still, you could arrange to bring your mother to my office instead. How’s that?’

  I grind my teeth in frustration. ‘Thank you,’ I say tightly. ‘Could you put Ruby back on?’

  Ruby comes back on the line a few seconds later. She keeps her voice low, saying, ‘Did you ask him to leave? Because he’s gone straight back into the living room to talk to your mother. And now he’s closing the door.’ She sounds breathless and outraged. ‘What should I do, Kate? Do you want me to call the police?’

  ‘Good God, no.’

  ‘No, you’re probably right. I’m sure he won’t try anything. Not now he knows we’re onto him.’

  I close my eyes. I like Ruby, but she does have a tendency to get a bit trigger-happy where my mother’s concerned. The last thing we need is to go bothering the police over a simple solicitor’s visit. Not without concrete proof that something untoward is going on.

  ‘Look, it’s fine. Just keep an eye on my mum, and if there are any problems, call me again.’ I hesitate. ‘Or you could always try Logan. He’s only ten minutes away, after all.’

  ‘Good idea,’ she says enthusiastically, and rings off, agreeing to monitor the situation for me.

  As the line goes dead, I turn to find Mark behind me, his look supercilious.

  ‘More personal calls during office hours, Kate?’ he drawls, but then waves a dismissive hand when I start to explain. ‘No, I’m really not interested. I have something more important to discuss with you. Come on.’

  Mystified, I follow him back into his office, the scene of my last ignominious meeting with Calum Morgan.

  To my surprise, my boss nods me towards the white sofa reserved for VIPs. ‘Take a pew.’ He thr
usts his hands into his trouser pockets, jiggling his loose change. ‘Coffee? Tea?’

  I shake my head.

  Mark sits beside me, which is alarming in itself. His eyes bore into mine. ‘I won’t bother beating about the bush. Calum wants you back.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You heard. I don’t approve, of course. He’s our top author, and I’d rather have a more experienced editor working with him. To avoid any further mishaps.’ His lips tighten. ‘But my hands are tied. It seems Calum has decided he likes a tough editor. Someone who’ll call him out on his bullshit.’ His eyes hold nothing but contempt for me. ‘So you’re back on the job.’

  I stare at him, unsure what to say.

  I’m also unsure I want to work with the lecherous, game-playing Calum Morgan on his awful bloody book. But to say no would only strain my relationship with the company further, and I can’t afford to risk losing my job. Not even over a matter of principle.

  I guess I’ll just have to find my own way of dealing with Calum Morgan’s wandering hands.

  Luckily, Mark doesn’t give me a chance to comment, continuing irritably, ‘I’ve done some work on the manuscript myself. I’ll let you have my notes asap. Timing is crucial on this now. I need you to meet up with Calum again and talk pre-publicity. Take one of the marketing team with you. He hates promoting, so a pincer movement is probably best. Get him to nail down some dates when he’ll be available for signings, plus radio and TV interviews. Make sure he can’t wriggle out of them.’ He pauses, grimacing. ‘And get that bloody book sorted out double quick. It’s an unholy mess.’

  I resist the urge to say ‘I told you so’ and nod instead. ‘Don’t worry, I will. Leave everything to me.’ I hesitate. ‘Though it’s a good idea to take someone else with me to any meetings. A third party might be useful. Calum can be a bit… hands-on, if you see what I mean.’

  His gaze, which has been roving bitterly about the office, flashes back to mine. ‘Is that so?’ His lip curls. ‘Well, keep it to yourself.’

  ‘I’m not an idiot, Mark,’ I say sharply.