Jen pretended to look hurt. “Oh, so it was just because you were desperate, was it?”
“No, no, God no, I didn’t mean . . .” Daniel realized too late that Jen was joking and went red. “Oh piss off,” he said jovially. “So go on then, what makes your family the crown bearers of dysfunctionality?”
Jen shrugged uncomfortably. She was still raw after the argument with her mother.
“That bad?” Daniel asked sympathetically and Jen found herself softening.
“Oh, nothing too serious. I’ve just got parents who lie, cheat, and hate each other, that’s all,” she said. And as she spoke, it suddenly didn’t seem quite so terrible anymore. It was actually kind of funny. Well, nearly. The thing was, she felt so natural with Daniel, like she could say anything to him, tease him, open up to him. Was this what people meant when they talked about love at first sight?
“You must have had a very interesting childhood!” Daniel grinned. “So do they get on well? In spite of the lying and cheating, I mean . . .”
“They’re divorced, actually.”
“Ah. Sorry.” Daniel looked slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. It happened years ago.”
He nodded. “Maybe they were just too similar.”
Jen frowned. “Similar? They are in some ways. And at the same time they’re nothing like each other. Mum’s into crystals and healers and ridiculous spiritual gurus who are nothing of the sort, and Dad . . . well, Dad is a workaholic. He’s . . .” She trailed off, not knowing what to say, not wanting to admit that she didn’t really know her father. She knew what she thought he was like, and she knew what he’d been like recently, but the two were so different that now she realized that she had no real idea what he was like at all, apart from her childhood memories when her parents argued most of the time and he always seemed to be at the office.
“He’s competitive,” she concluded. “And actually, you probably know him. He’s . . . well, he’s George Bell.”
Jen watched closely as Daniel’s eyes widened. “Crikey. Okay, you win. So, seriously, you’re George Bell’s daughter?”
Jen nodded. “No one at Bell knows,” she said seriously. “It’s kind of . . . complicated.” She thought of Angel as she spoke and smiled to herself slightly.
“So you’re actually Jennifer Bell, not Jennifer Bellman?”
Jen cringed slightly. “Yeah. I . . . well, I kind of ran out of inspiration on that one. And I was terrified I’d forget what I was supposed to be called.”
“I prefer Bell. It suits you. So do you take after him? Or are you more like your mother? Only I think I should be warned, don’t you?”
He was grinning and looking right into her eyes, and Jen felt herself sinking, losing the ability to think straight, to think about anything except him, how close he was, how wonderful it felt.
“Neither of them,” she said softly as Daniel reached forward and kissed her. “Both of them. Some of them. The . . . just the good bits . . .”
Five hours later, Jen was in the back of a taxi with Daniel, her head spinning with excitement. She was sitting, head nestled on Daniel’s shoulder, with his arm wrapped around her. She was holding his hand, and he was stroking her hair with his other hand. She’d be ready to die and go to heaven right now if she wasn’t so excited about what was to come.
Jen closed her eyes briefly, trying to commit the entire evening to memory, every last detail. There had been the kiss, of course. That had really been the start, the moment that she’d stopped feeling nervous. With that one kiss—or, actually, quite a few if anyone was counting— Jen had felt something stir inside her, something that made her feel like laughing and crying at the same time.
Which, she recognized, was a little over the top as reactions go, and at first she blamed the champagne. But then, at dinner, they’d talked like they’d known each other for ages. She talked and talked about her parents, telling Daniel things that she hadn’t even admitted to herself. And every so often he would squeeze her hand or lean over and kiss her—and when she was done, which was about the time pudding arrived, he took over the talking. He talked gently about himself, his childhood in Scotland then Northumberland, his decision to go to university—which crossed the family tradition of working in farming—his early successes, and his current existentialist angst about what the point of everything was.
And when they’d finally finished, neither of them had wanted to go home, so he’d taken her to Ronnie Scott’s, spirited her upstairs to a little dance floor where they played salsa music and the two of them danced together, alone, cheek to cheek, and Jen truly thought that if they carried on dancing, the night would never have to end.
Finally, when Jen found herself with her head on Daniel’s shoulder with her eyes closed, he whispered that perhaps it was time to go home now, and she nodded sleepily, knowing that tonight wherever Daniel went, she would go, too.
“Come on sleepyhead, we’re nearly home,” Daniel said, ruffling Jen’s hair and waking her from her little dream.
“Whose home?” she asked sleepily.
“Yours, of course.” Daniel grinned. “I thought it might be a little presumptuous to take you back to mine.”
Jen shot Daniel a sideways look. “My flat’s a mess,” she said sheepishly. “You’ll have to keep your eyes shut.”
“What if I promise not to remember anything I see?”
“No,” said Jen. “I don’t want you forgetting tonight, if it’s okay with you.”
As they pulled up outside her building, Daniel peered at the front door. “Just checking,” he explained as Jen hit him playfully. “You’re not expecting any other ex-boyfriends, are you?”
Jen got out of the cab and made her way to the front door, suddenly terrified that maybe Gavin was there, that in some hideous twist of fate he’d found himself stranded in London for a second time. But to her relief, her doorstep was empty. As she turned the key, Daniel came up behind her and started to kiss her neck. She turned to kiss him and they fell against the door, pushing it open. Then, silently, they made their way to her first-floor flat, where she unlocked the door and held it open for him.
“Nice high ceilings,” he said appraisingly. “It’s lovely.” Daniel walked over to her and put his arms around her, and as he leaned down to kiss her, Jen wrapped her arms tightly round his neck.
Daniel slowly took off her coat, and she unbuttoned his jacket, and then he was kissing her neck, pulling off her sweater.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Jen started.
“Is that your phone?” Daniel murmured. “Why don’t you turn it off?”
Jen nodded as Daniel released her, and she picked her mobile out of her coat pocket. Then she frowned.
“It’s Dad,” she said, intrigued. “Why would he be calling at this time?”
She hesitated. It was strange—she’d only plugged his number into her phone the other day and it felt odd and exciting to see DAD flashing on her phone’s display. But she was here with Daniel. She’d had enough of family in the past few days. This was her time and she wasn’t going to let him intrude.
Purposefully, she pressed END on her phone, then switched it off.
“Everything okay?” Daniel asked gently, and she nodded, letting him scoop her up in his arms and half carry her into the bedroom. Then she let him undress her completely, and she helped him out of his clothes, too. And minutes later they were writhing on the bed, Jen pressing herself into him and trying to remember the last time she felt so exhilarated.
“I want to make love to you,” Daniel whispered, and Jen nodded, maneuvering him on top of her and allowing him to take complete control. As he entered her, she gasped, and as they rocked back and forth she felt her world drop away. Nothing mattered more than the here and now. Daniel inside her. On top of her. All around her. She felt herself rising, falling, spinning, and then at last she gasped, pulling Daniel into her, squeezing him with a strength she didn’t know sh
e had, then, afterward, she didn’t know how long afterward, loosening her grip, lying back in wonderment.
“Fuck me.” Daniel sighed, and rested his head on the pillow next to hers.
“I think I just did,” Jen said dreamily, her limbs entangled with Daniel’s, as she floated off to sleep, flushed, exhausted, and deliriously happy.
Jen awoke to someone stroking her hair, and immediately opened her eyes to see that there was a cup of tea being thrust in her direction.
“I didn’t know if you took sugar,” Daniel said apologetically. “So I put one in—I thought after last night you might need the energy.”
Jen allowed herself a little giggle, then pulled herself up to a sitting position. “You’ve made toast!” she exclaimed and Daniel shrugged.
“There wasn’t much bread left. And you’ve got absolutely bugger-all in your fridge. But yes, I managed some toast if you’re hungry. And I bought a newspaper as well.”
Jen reached up and kissed him. “You are perfect,” she said happily. “This, all this, is just completely perfect.”
Daniel got back into bed and Jen greedily wolfed down a slice of toast dripping with honey, opening up the newspaper and scanning it for interesting stories. Snow was expected in London that week. There had been widespread criticism of transport problems on New Year’s Eve. And Bell Consulting was implicated in the Tsunami corruption scandal according to sources . . .
Jen stared at the page. Bell implicated? How? Why?
She read quickly. A source close to Bell Consulting had uncovered a letter that the newspaper had seen, which suggested that Bell played a role in securing valuable contracts for its client Axiom Construction. A letter thanking George for his help!
She frowned. They couldn’t be referring to the letter she found, could they? Impossible. She still had it. And no one else had “uncovered” it. No one else had seen it.
No one except Gavin.
“Now, I don’t know if you’ve got plans today,” Daniel was saying, “but . . .” He paused. “Is everything okay?”
“Um, no, no, not really,” Jen said, her heart pounding. “I . . . oh, fuck.” Her brain was going into overdrive. It had to be Gavin. That stupid prick had gone and leaked it to a journalist! It was exactly the sort of thing he’d do. Why on earth had she even mentioned it to him? Oh, God, how could she be so stupid? Was that why her father had called last night? Had the journalist called him? Her heart was thudding in her chest. She’d only just got her father back and now she’d betrayed him, all because she hadn’t been able to stop herself wanting to impress Gavin, to let him know just how important she was. Would he ever forgive her?
Her landline phone started ringing, and Jen thought about ignoring it, then changed her mind. If it was going to be her father again, disowning her, then she may as well get it over and done with. With any luck it would be Gavin instead and she could tell him exactly what she thought of him.
She looked at Daniel apologetically and scrambled for the phone, getting there just in time.
“Hello?” she asked tentatively.
“Is this Jennifer?”
Jen frowned. She didn’t recognize the voice. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“Oh, good. Jennifer, this is Emily, your father’s personal assistant. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
Jen realized guiltily that she was speaking to the woman whose every move she had tracked in order to sneak into her father’s office. “Right,” she said resignedly and braced herself. She was being booted off the course, she thought to herself. Her father never wanted to see her again.
Daniel watched curiously from the bed as Jen’s face went from a guilty red to absolute white in the space of a few seconds.
“Right. Okay, then. Yes, immediately,” he heard her say, and frowned.
“Everything all right?” he asked, getting out of bed and sitting on the side as she walked back toward him as if in a dream.
She looked at him vaguely and pulled a sheet around herself as if suddenly noticing her nakedness. “Um, no. Not really,” she said, turning slowly to meet his eyes. “Emily, my dad’s personal assistant, is coming to pick me up in about five minutes. He’s . . . he’s had a heart attack.”
17
Jen stared at the body of her father, limp and still, connected to tubes and machines that beeped and flashed protectively around him, and felt inadequate. Her mind was full of ifs, unable to focus on one before another pushed its way into her consciousness. If only she hadn’t spoken to Gavin about Bell Consulting. If only she hadn’t screamed at her father that she hated him and never wanted to see him again when her mother had told her he was leaving. If only she’d found out the truth earlier. If only she’d answered the phone when he’d called. If only she was a better person, a better daughter. If only she wasn’t so utterly selfish that even now she was picturing Daniel in her bed and wishing that she was there with him and that none of this had happened . . .
It was all her fault, she knew that. And yet all she wanted to do was blame someone else. Gavin, mainly, for talking to the newspapers. It had to be him, she reasoned; it had his name all over it, he was the only person she’d told about the letter. Plus he was the biggest opportunist she knew—doubtless this little leak would earn him brownie points with the journalist and get him coverage of his latest escapade. But did he even stop to think about the impact? Did he ever worry just a teensy bit what might happen to her? Of course not. Bastard.
Well, now he could add giving George Bell a heart attack to his list of achievements. No doubt her father had heard the story was going to run, and it sent him over the edge. She wondered whether it was the story itself or the fact that he thought he’d been betrayed by his own daughter that had caused the attack.
No matter. The point was that Gavin was going to get it. He was going to be so sore by the time she’d finished with him that he’d spend the rest of his life apologizing and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Who else, she wondered, now in her stride. Who else could take some of the blame? Well, there was always her mother—she’d been responsible for sowing the seeds of suspicion in the first place, after all. She’d forced Jen into spying on her own flesh and blood. The man who wanted to be a father to her and whom Harriet had lied about all along. Yes, it was all her fault. Well, hers and Gavin’s.
And then there was Daniel. If he hadn’t asked her out, if he hadn’t been there, it might have been different. She’d have picked up the phone, she’d have been there when her father called . . .
Jen felt a little tear trickle down her face and she wiped it away. She was seriously losing the plot here if she was attempting to somehow finger Daniel in the culpability stakes. Him of all people. The loveliest person in the world. She seriously needed to get a grip on herself. It was entirely her fault anyway—she’d been showing off to Gavin, and she’d allowed her mother to talk her into doing the MBA because she was bored, because she wanted something else to do, and spying on her father seemed as good an idea as anything else.
Didn’t mean Gavin wasn’t going to pay for going behind her back, though. Jen had already left one shitty message for him on his mobile phone, and she was planning to leave another one every day until he called her back and apologized. She wanted to know how he’d managed to take a copy of the letter, too. She’d checked, and the letter was still where she’d hidden it, so how would the newspaper have seen it? Not that it mattered now.
Slowly, she moved toward her father’s bed and sat down in the chair next to it. She stared at him, trying to memorize his face, trying to make it fit with the face she used to know so well. The doctor had only said that he would probably pull through; there was no guarantee that he actually would. And even if her father did get better, if he was as angry as she expected him to be, this might be the last chance she got to look at him close up.
As she looked at him, she made a little promise to herself. If he pulled through, she was going to be the best daughter ever. She wa
s going to spend time with her father, make him proud of her. It would be like one of those slow-motion film sequences where they’d run down the beach together, build sandcastles, and have long chats about life and the universe. Maybe not the running bit—he had just had a heart attack, after all. But definitely the talking bit. She looked at her watch. Eleven-thirty A.M. Right, from now on, she was going to look after him. From now on, things would be different.
“How long have you been here?”
Jen was startled to hear her father’s voice, and opened her eyes quickly. She stole a quick look at the clock on the other side of the wall and realized that she must have been asleep for a couple of hours. Okay, so the good-daughter routine started from one thirty P.M.
“A while,” she said tentatively. “Dad, I’m so sorry. I’m so . . .” Without meaning to, she started to cry, all her frustrations and guilt pouring out of her in warm, saltwater tears that clung to her eyes and nose.
“Come on, now,” George said quickly. “There’s no need . . . I’ll be right as rain soon enough. Come on, Jen. Come on, sweetheart.”
“I thought . . . I thought I might lose you. Again,” Jen blubbed, sniffing loudly and taking a tissue from her father’s bedside table. “And I’m meant to be strong for you too, and look at me. I’m hopeless. I’m a terrible daughter.”
“No one’s losing anyone,” George said, his voice weak and breathless.
Jen nodded seriously. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. So, what happened?” she asked, wiping away her tears and frowning to make herself concentrate on the present situation instead of contemplating her many failings as a human being. She was going to be strong, take whatever her dad had to say to her on the chin.
“Bloody nuisance, that’s what happened,” George said, attempting a wry smile. “Sooner I get out of here the better, wouldn’t you say?”
Jen nodded silently, wondering whether he was talking about the article or his heart attack. “But what . . . what prompted it? The heart attack, I mean,” she asked tentatively.
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