“Maisie, sweetheart, calm down. Just tell me what’s the matter...”
Her voice sent soothing waves over me, but it would take more than a few kind words from my foster mother to thaw the ice in my veins.
“It happened again,” I gulped. “I had one of my horrible nightmares.”
Pathetic though it sounded, how much of this could I attribute to Joe’s absence? There was no denying that from the day he moved in, to the wrench of his departure, I hadn’t endured a single one of those dreams.
Once again, though, my world had been flipped upside down, my old anxieties resurfacing. I thought I had come so far but strolling back to an empty flat, even the familiar white bulk of that Nissan spooked me. Joe was gone, Mr Lacey was back and I was stuck in the same negative feedback loop as before.
“I’m so anxious now,” I kept rambling. “I can’t do this anymore, living on my own, especially after the death of Sam’s social worker. The investigation is ongoing and without Joe around, I feel vulnerable.”
“I know, I saw it on the news,” Mandy sighed. “Just terrible! And wasn’t Sam the boy at the heart of all this, the one who disappeared?”
“Yes!” I replied. “He lives in London now, in fact I’d love you to meet him... if I was living in Swanley it would be even easier.”
Before I knew it, I was telling her about our blissful excursion around Sussex; a day we spent getting to know each other.
Mandy reacted with a chuckle. “Sounds promising. So what’s he like, this Sam? You haven’t really said much.”
“Blonde, handsome, stylish,” I mused. “He was adorable as a boy and his looks have improved with age.”
Yes, I cherished his unusual beauty, his high forehead, his shapely mouth.
“Trouble is, he hasn’t said anything about wanting to see me again.”
“Then maybe he’s waiting for you to make the next move,” she advised. “Get in touch! Ask him if he’s free at the weekend. You’re bound to be lonely now Joe is gone, so what have you got to lose?”
“Are you sure that won’t seem pushy?” I faltered. “I-I mean, what excuse am I going to use?”
“Oh Maisie,” she sighed. “I wish you had a little more confidence. Why not invite him round for a meal? Or if you don’t feel comfortable on your own with him, suggest a restaurant. Just phone him! Even if you stay friends, it’s better than moping around on your own, feeling sorry for yourself.”
******
Knocking off work on Friday, I could not ignore the anticipation bubbling inside me at the thought of seeing Sam again. True to my word, I had called him. Heard the pleasure tucked into his voice when he agreed to meet me.
What I hadn’t considered, however, was that he might set off early to beat the London rush hour traffic. It left me no time to change, and the instant I spotted that tell-tale kingfisher blue gleam outside, I realised it was too late.
With no other choice than to welcome him, I hesitantly opened the door.
Inching back and forth to manoeuvre his Audi into what little space remained, his face twisted with the effort of parking.
“Sam!” I called out, wandering across the pavement. “Would it help if I nudged my car up a bit?”
Turning his head sharply, he snapped on a smile, and leaving his car parked lopsidedly for the moment, jumped out to greet me. He too looked as if he had only just left work, the charcoal jacket worn over his polo neck a little too tailored to be casual.
“Hi, Maisie,” he said. His eyes wandered over me from my face to my toes. “You look lovely.”
My heart swelled with the compliment, drawing a smile to my lips.
“Thanks,” I muttered and suddenly my Laura Ashley dress seemed less formal. Spun in a neat daisy cotton print with buttons running down the front, it moulded itself to my figure nicely.
Before I had a chance to say another word, though, a shadow flickered in the doorway. I glanced around. Felt the breath freeze in my throat as the recognition of our observer hit home.
Richard Lacey.
There was a glint in his eye as he smirked at me.
“Well, if it isn’t Maisie Bell... How are you, my dear? I see you have a visitor, and I expect my car is in the way.”
Sam frowned, as perplexed I was. Mr Lacey looked no different; the same swept back tawny hair and neat beard. Emaciated as ever, his scrawny neck was looped with a familiar silk cravat, his brocade waistcoat better suited to a museum.
“D-don’t worry about it,” I stammered. “I expect we’ll go out later... but how are you? I gather you’ve been in hospital.”
“That’s right. Some routine surgery, followed by a nice period of convalescence, but I’m a lot better than I was, thank you.” He narrowed his eyes before his gaze rested on Sam. “And who might you be?”
Shocked by such a direct approach, I turned to him.
Yet he exhibited no shyness and faced him boldly. “Sam McFadden. An estate agent from London. But Maisie and I know each other from way back.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Sam,” drawled Richard Lacey, and without hesitation, stepped onto the pavement, his hand reaching out like a claw.
As both men shook hands, I felt the tension in the air lift. Then with no further argument, Richard obligingly moved his vehicle a few feet.
How strange to see such courtesy.
Thanking him politely, I was on the verge of leading Sam into my flat, but it seemed Richard Lacey had a few more words to say.
“Now make sure you treat her like a gentleman. I haven’t known her for very long, but long enough to say she is a very sophisticated young lady.”
I felt a blush creep to my cheeks. Sam, on the hand, gave a nod.
“She is indeed,” he smiled, clasping both my hands, “and I shall wine you and dine you somewhere nice...”
After briefly stopping in my flat for a coffee, I tingled with the praise he showered my home with. The bookcase and dresser finished in pine were among my finer possessions, my sofa a little worn, though aptly disguised with a velvet throw and an array of jewel bright cushions.
Sam asked if I knew any restaurants within walking distance. So I tentatively suggested Sen Tapas, a stone’s throw away from where Hannah was based.
“I love tapas,” he enthused and hooking his arm through mine, we set off.
No sooner had we started walking, though, than he asked me how I was coping. I couldn’t avoid mentioning my nightmare. His appearance at the end was a chilling twist and hard as I tried to fight it, the notion of Mortimer’s evil lingered, the untimely death of Yvonne Draper fated to resurrect it.
Footsteps slowing, I felt the warmth of his palm run down my back.
“I wish I knew what to say,” he sighed, “it was the last thing I expected. Maybe we should avoid the subject of the investigation for one night.”
Once hidden inside the busy restaurant, Sam gazed at our surroundings in awe. But who couldn’t fall in love with this place, the rich Mediterranean colours warming the walls, an overhead lantern casting a golden pool over our table?
He slipped off his jacket and slowly we began to unwind.
“Well, this is nice,” he smiled, “just the two of us. Shall we order?”
A delicious smell of garlic and herbs wafted in the air, teasing our appetites, although neither of us felt like eating much. Picking over the menu, we agreed on a mixture of tapas dishes; deep fried calamari rings, sauteed chicken and chorizo with patatas bravas and a tortilla.
I sipped my wine, a fruity red, and with the alcohol loosening my inhibitions, I was definitely in the mood for talking now. Sam seemed eager to know about my upbringing, wondering what it felt like to be fostered. So without hesitation, I began telling him about Swanley, the home I had grown up in, not to forget the wonderful couple who had raised me.
“Mandy and Stewart are such kind people, both teachers, and they couldn’t have done more to welcome me. This is where I developed a love of gardens and country walks
. In fact, they’d love to meet you...”
Sam raised his eyebrows, fork suspended. “You told them about me?”
“Of course,” I breathed. “I don’t keep any secrets from them, and while we’re on the topic, I asked Mandy if I could move back home.”
“But what about your work?” he responded gently. “Didn’t you say they lived in Swanley?”
“I don’t care,” I shrugged. “Living on my own in Bognor doesn’t feel safe now.”
Reaching across the table, his hand folded over my own. “In that case, have you thought about talking to that policeman friend of yours? There must be some protection they can offer you.”
Holding his gaze, I saw nothing but concern, and was relieved to see he understood my fragility.
As we picked at our tapas dishes, I could feel my mood lifting. Sam ordered another glass of red for me, but after sinking a half pint of San Miguel, he switched to soft drinks. The restaurant had become busier in the last hour, which didn’t bother me in the slightest. Feeling less self-conscious, I remembered what Mandy said; that even if we stayed friends, it was preferable to struggling through life alone.
Once the bill was settled, I suggested sharing a taxi back, but Sam seemed to prefer walking.
“It’s so quiet,” he commented. “If this was London, the streets would be heaving on a Friday night...”
His words drew a frown, unleashing a different stream of thoughts.
“How long have you lived in London?” I asked, thinking he had spoken so little about himself tonight.
“Oh God, let me think,” he pondered. “At least fifteen years, but don’t forget I lived in London before the era of Orchard Grange.”
“Of course,” I whispered, his personal memories springing back to me. “I’ve never forgotten the stuff you told us about your mum.”
“I-I loved her very much.”
With his voice turning husky, I almost wished I hadn’t reminded him.
“She was the centre of my universe once, but it all seems like a dream now. Those final years in Scotland nearly broke me. Thank God I flew the nest!” Head down, he inhaled a shuddering breath. “I reckon Duncan would have murdered me if I’d hung around much longer. So as soon as I was old enough to make my own way in life, I just went for it.”
“Oh, Sam,” I whispered. “I never meant to dredge up your past again.”
“Don’t be,” he sighed. “It needs saying and you’re a good listener. Maybe I should get it off my chest. Do you want to know what the absolute tipping point was?”
Without drawing breath, he launched into a memory of Hogmanay, one of the most celebrated events in Scotland. Bowing to tradition, his family had hosted a huge party, one that meant dressing up, getting drunk and dancing well beyond midnight...
“I remember the year my brother was excluded,” he finished sadly. “Even I thought that was unfair. I was fourteen then and used to my own company but our father refused to back down.”
“Then why didn’t he just go?” I gasped in my naivety.
“I wish he had,” Sam snorted, “‘cos instead of joining in the fun, he was stuck in the attic keeping me company. We watched telly and played a board game but it was like sitting next to a volcano. He looked at me with such hate, I felt something snap that night, but what choice did we have? With Father pissed on whisky, the consequences of letting his guard slip didn’t bear thinking about.”
I had never expected him to be so blunt. Yet every encounter stoked a flame in my heart, something deeper than sympathy. Marching along the pavements, never once breaking conversation, I sensed a kindred spirit, an invisible connection looming. Finally, we turned the corner into Annandale Avenue.
“Would you like to come in for another coffee?” I suggested.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, but maybe just the one. Then I’d best be on my way...”
By the time we were approaching my home, the sky had darkened to an inky blue. Sam stared ahead, eyes zooming in on the iridescent panels of his car. It shimmered under a lamp post, but in a flash his expression changed.
I glanced at him in alarm. “Is something wrong?”
Dropping down on one knee, he ran his palm over his forehead.
“No!” I heard him hiss under his breath. “Oh fuck!”
Only then did I notice how lop-sided it looked, the front leaning almost drunkenly into the curb.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a flat tyre,” I spluttered.
“Worse,” he said darkly. “Some bastard’s rammed a nail into it!”
A feeling of shame curled over me.
Sam’s car vandalised outside my home? This couldn’t be happening.
“Should we tell the police?”
“What’s the point?” he snapped. “They’ve got far more important things to deal with than acts of petty vandalism.”
I watched in dread as he examined the damage. With his head drooping low, he looked utterly deflated, his earlier sparkle extinguished.
“Let’s go inside,” I said softly. “I’ll put the kettle on...”
As soon as I had closed the door I crept into the kitchen, leaving Sam in the lounge.
“I don’t bloody believe it,” I heard him muttering. “Even the spare’s knackered. I should have taken it to the garage weeks ago!”
Pacing around like a tiger, his anger wouldn’t abate. I wondered if there was anything I could do to comfort him but my throat felt tight with fear.
“What sort of arseholes would do that?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, joining him in the lounge, “but please don’t stress. There’s not a lot we can do at this time of night.”
He shook his head, every contour of his face frozen in anguish. “You don’t understand. How the bloody hell am I going to get home tonight?”
I took a swallow, unnerved to see him so crestfallen.
“Sam,” I proposed, “you can stay here. There’s an empty spare room now Joe has left, so why don’t you just relax?”
Freezing mid step, he cast a look of woe.
“Are you sure?” he said at last. “I hate to impose.”
“Oh, stop it,” I berated him. “None of this is your fault. Now sit down and stop fretting, we’ve had such a nice evening. I’ll go and make you a coffee.”
Turning from the window to face me, a smile touched his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger, have you?”
“I’ve got some brandy,” I smiled back.
Braced with a glass of brandy each, I sensed the tension begin to evaporate.
“I’m sorry about your car,” I pacified him. “I can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing, but it’s got me worried...”
“Me too,” he nodded, “and I know what you’re going to say. What if it’s connected to the investigation? Think about it, Maisie, every time we get together, something bad happens.”
His words turned me cold, a terrible fear snaking through my innards, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
“I bet Mortimer had something to with it,” I blurted. “Or Schiller.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“You think they’re still stalking you?” Sam frowned.
“There’s no evidence to suggest they’re not.”
The clues in Joe’s tweets had never stopped haunting me, and looking at Sam now, it pained me to imagine he might be their next victim.
Our eyes locked, my heart thumping, yet there was no mistaking that spark. I took another gulp of brandy, my glass almost empty.
Sam took it from my hands and lowering it to the sideboard, looked deep into my eyes. “Shall we have another?” he smiled suggestively. “Forget our troubles for now and think about ourselves for a change?”
His hand caressed my shoulder, and suddenly I didn’t want to think about our enemies. Nothing mattered more than this enchanting man leaning over me. So I did what my instincts were telling me. With a trembling hand, I st
roked his face, my fingers tracing that lovely jaw.
Then finally our lips came together and he kissed me. It was almost magical, and by the time we broke apart, I felt breathless.
“Maisie,” he whispered. His hand stroked my neck, sending shivers through me. “It’s been hard to keep my eyes off you since meeting up... I-I just didn’t want to jump too soon and spoil things.”
“Spoil things?” I echoed.
Nothing could spoil this moment.
Yet as one kiss led to another, his hands began to wander. I felt his lips on my throat moving downwards, fingers tugging my dress buttons as he slowly began to unfasten them. A deep and insistent well of panic rose in me, forcing my eyes shut; except instead of pulling back, I inhaled his scent, the muskiness of his skin like an aphrodisiac. My stomach flipped another somersault, the taste of his lips lingering. The next time he looked at me, I saw an expression of such tenderness, it turned my limbs to liquid.
“Shall we move to the bedroom?” he said softly.
He was letting me take the lead, so how could I refuse him? The gentleness of his touch stirred little flutters in me, and I could feel my body responding.
“Okay,” I whispered, my lips betraying a tremor.
“Don’t be nervous,” he soothed, “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
Stroking the sides of his face, I kissed him again with sudden eagerness, my lips parting to find his tongue.
Because deep down, I knew this was what we both wanted, and if I ruined things now, I might not get a second chance, having already scared off Joe.
Chapter Fifty-Four
What happened that night changed everything. Riding a wave of euphoria, I could never have dreamt it would be so good, but if there was anything Sam possessed it was patience. Slowly undressing me, he stroked me all over, his fingers like flames tracing every inch of my body. Following his lead, I marvelled at his physique, the delicate shape of his collar bones sweeping into the contours of his chest.
He had a tattoo on one shoulder and long graceful limbs, a shimmer of golden body hairs in all the right places. Kissing one another between caresses, I felt my arousal climbing, until I could bear it no more... and even then Sam coaxed me on top of him, insisting I took control. We fused together so perfectly, it banished any last traces of victimhood.
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