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‘You didn’t say how you liked your coffee.’
While he’d been mulling over his options the kettle had boiled and Emily had filled the mug with boiling water. ‘I—as it comes,’ he muttered, deciding there was no point in complaining now that the coffee was made. ‘Thanks,’ he added, when she pushed the mug towards him. His lips twisted. ‘Aren’t you joining me?’
‘I don’t drink coffee,’ said Emily, hesitating a moment before leading the way into the adjoining living room. ‘We might as well go in here.’
Jake arched his brows, but, picking up his jacket and his coffee, he followed her. She was right. He might as well make himself comfortable. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere until Isobel got home.
The living room was the largest room in the apartment. When Isobel had moved in she’d furnished it in a manner that suited the high ceilings and polished wood floors. Instead of modern chairs and sofas she’d chosen a pair of mahogany-framed settees and two high-backed armchairs upholstered in burgundy velvet. There were several occasional tables and a carved oak cabinet containing the china and silverware her mother had given them as a wedding present. A tall bookcase, crammed with books, flanked the Adam-style fireplace, where Isobel’s only concession to the twenty-first century smouldered behind a glass screen. But an open fire would have been too dangerous with a young child in the apartment, and the gas replacement was very convincing.
Long velvet curtains hung at the broad bay windows, their dark rose colour faded to a muted shade. The huge rug that occupied the centre of the floor was faded, too, and Jake wondered if that was a deliberate choice. Goodness knew, with the money he paid her every month—and her job—she shouldn’t be hard up.
But as he looked about him he noticed there were definite signs of wear and tear about the place. The cabinets were in need of attention and the polished floor was scuffed. Was Isobel finding it too much, juggling a job and looking after her home and family?
Determined not to feel in any way responsible for Isobel’s problems, Jake draped his jacket over the back of a chair. Then, lounging onto one of the sofas, he hooked an ankle across his knee. The coffee was too hot to drink at present, so he set the mug on the floor beside him.
He should have known better, he reflected, as Emily hustled across the room to set an end table beside him. She placed a coaster on it and bent to pick up his mug, but he forestalled her. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, containing his impatience. ‘You can go and do your homework or whatever it is you usually do at this time of the afternoon.’
But Emily apparently had no intention of leaving him on his own. ‘I can do my homework later,’ she said, seating herself in the armchair across the hearth from him. ‘I’ve got plenty of time.’
But I haven’t, thought Jake drily, regarding the girl through exasperated eyes. She was certainly Isobel’s daughter, he reflected, noticing the way she sat with her back straight, her knees demurely drawn together. Or perhaps that was a result of her grandmother’s teaching. The old lady had certainly influenced Isobel. Why shouldn’t she influence her granddaughter, too?
At least his scrutiny appeared to be getting through to her. She was still wearing the grey skirt, white blouse and dark green cardigan she wore for school, and now she averted her eyes, poking a finger through one of the buttonholes on the cardigan. Was she nervous of him? he wondered, feeling a reluctant trace of sympathy at the thought. Dammit, what lies had Isobel told her about him?
‘So,’ he said, feeling obliged to say something, ‘what’s wrong with your grandma?’
‘Granny’s not well,’ she repeated, not too nervous to take the opportunity to correct him. ‘I told you that.’
‘Yeah, but what’s wrong with her?’ asked Jake shortly. ‘Do you know?’
Emily compressed her small mouth. ‘I think—I think it’s something to do with her heart,’ she responded at last. Then, with more confidence, ‘She had an operation last year.’
‘Did she?’
Jake frowned. Isobel had told him nothing about that. But then, why would she? They hardly ever saw one another these days.
‘You don’t like Granny, do you?’ Emily remarked suddenly, and Jake caught his breath.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You don’t like Granny,’ Emily reiterated blandly. ‘She says you never did.’
‘Does she?’ Jake was aware of an anger out of all proportion to the offence. ‘Well, she’d know, I suppose.’
‘Why?’ Emily arched enquiring eyebrows and Jake sighed.
‘I guess because she never liked me,’ he replied after a moment’s consideration. Why shouldn’t he defend himself? The old girl had had it her own way long enough. ‘I dare say she didn’t tell you that.’
‘No.’ Emily looked doubtful. ‘Is that why you don’t live with us any more?’
‘No!’ Jake knew he sounded resentful and he quickly modified his tone. ‘Look, why don’t you go and watch TV or something? I’ve got some calls to make.’
Emily frowned. ‘What calls?’
‘Phone calls,’ said Jake shortly, getting to his feet and pulling his cellphone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Do you mind?’
‘I don’t mind.’ Emily shook her head. ‘Who are you going to call?’
My mistress?
Jake tried the answer on for size and instantly rejected it. His quarrel had never been with the child, after all. She was the innocent victim here and he had no desire to hurt her.
‘A friend,’ he said instead, sitting down again. ‘No one you know.’
‘A woman-friend?’
Emily was persistent, and once again Jake had to guard his tongue.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked, maintaining a neutral tone with an effort. He paused significantly. ‘Can I have a little privacy here?’
‘May I have a little privacy,’ Emily corrected him primly. ‘Granny says you keep beans in cans.’
Granny had far too much to say for herself, thought Jake savagely. But he was relieved when Emily got to her feet and started towards to the door.
‘I’ll go and see what we’re having for supper,’ she said with evident reluctance. ‘It’s probably going be late when Mummy gets back.’
Jake opened his mouth to say it had better not be, and then closed it again. Emily had left the room in any case. Besides, he was half convinced she’d only been baiting him. For a ten—almost eleven—year-old, she was remarkably mature.
Marcie sounded less than pleased when she came on the line. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be late. Honestly, Jake, I thought you said it wouldn’t take long.’
Jake sighed. He could hear the sounds of the hair salon in the background: the constant buzz of voices, the hum of the driers, the subtle Muzak that was supposed to relax the clients.
‘There’s been a complication,’ he said, hoping she could hear him. ‘Isobel’s not here.’
‘She’s not there?’ Obviously she could hear him loud and clear. ‘So what’s the problem? You’ll have to see her some other time.’
‘No, I can’t. That is—’ Jake knew it wasn’t going to be easy convincing her that he had to stay. ‘Emily’s here.’
‘The kid?’
‘Isobel’s daughter, yes.’ Jake didn’t really like the dismissive way Marcie had spoken of her. ‘She’s on her own.’
‘So?’
‘So I’ve got to stay until her mother gets back,’ said Jake evenly. ‘You’d better order a cab to take you home from the salon.’
‘No!’ Marcie sounded furious. ‘Jake, do you have any idea how difficult it is to order a cab at this time of the evening?’
‘I know.’ Jake blew out a weary breath. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do.’
‘There is something you can do,’ she retorted angrily. ‘You can leave your wife’s bastard on her own and get over here and pick me up like you promised.’
‘Don’t call her that!’ Jake couldn’t prevent the automatic reproof. ‘For God’s sake, Marcie, she’s not to blame because Isobel’s gone to her mother’s.’
‘And nor am I,’ responded Marcie grimly. ‘Come on, Jake, you know she’s trying it on. She probably guessed how you’d feel when you found—Emily—on her own.’
‘She didn’t have a lot of choice,’ said Jake, wondering why he was defending his wife to his girlfriend. ‘The old lady’s ill, apparently. I guess it could be her heart.’
‘My heart bleeds.’ Marcie snorted, but then, as if realising how unsympathetic she sounded, she took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she said, capitulating, ‘I’ll take a cab home. And you’ll pick me up in—what? An hour and a half?’
‘Something like that,’ agreed Jake, glancing at his watch. Surely Isobel would be back by half-past six.
‘You haven’t forgotten we’re going out this evening, have you, Jake?’ Marcie had heard the unspoken doubt in his voice and reacted to it. ‘You’ll need at least an hour to shower and change.’
‘I know that.’ Jake was beginning to feel harassed. ‘Back off, will you, Marcie? I’ll be there.’
‘Oh, Jake.’ Marcie groaned. ‘I’m sorry if I sound like a bitch. I’ve just been looking forward to this evening so much. I haven’t spent the best part of the day in the beauty salon to have—well, to have Isobel spoil it.’
‘She won’t spoil it. I promise.’ Jake hoped he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. ‘Gotta go now. I’ll see you later.’
He didn’t give her a chance to argue. Out of the corner of his eye he’d glimpsed Emily hovering just beyond the doorway into the kitchen, and he had no intention of providing her with any juicy gossip to relay to her mother.
As soon as he’d flipped the phone closed she showed herself, however. ‘Finished?’ she asked, and he nodded, wondering if he was being naïve in thinking she hadn’t been listening all along.
But it was too late to do anything about it now and, picking up his coffee, he took a grateful gulp. Thankfully, it was cool enough to drink, and surprisingly good besides. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she’d done it before.
‘Would you like some more?’ she asked as he set down the empty mug, but Jake declined.
‘Not right now,’ he said, and as she turned away to return the mug to the kitchen he found himself watching her with a curiously critical eye.
In her school uniform, she could have been any one of the hundred or so children who attended the Lady Stafford Middle School. But, despite himself, Jake knew he’d have no difficulty in picking her out of a crowd. Although he’d only seen her a handful of times in the past ten years, he’d have recognised her anywhere, and if it hadn’t been so annoying it would have been pathetic.
Dammit, she wasn’t his daughter. She had never been his daughter, and if Isobel hadn’t been so hell-bent on lying to her, he and the child might well have achieved a friendly relationship. As it was, Emily hated him and he resented her.
She came back then, resuming her seat opposite him, and rather than suffer the discomfort of another prolonged appraisal Jake chose another tack.
‘So, what do you do in your spare time?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘Do you have a computer?’
‘Of course I have a computer. Everybody does.’
Emily was scathing, and Jake tried again. ‘How about computer games?’ he suggested. ‘I’m pretty good at them myself.’
‘You play computer games?’
She couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice, and Jake felt an unwilling sense of indignation. Evidently Isobel had been selective in choosing what information to give the child, and he would enjoy exploding her bubble.
‘I invent them,’ he said flatly. ‘Among other things. Didn’t your mother tell you?’
‘No.’ There was a reluctant glimmer of interest in Emily’s eyes. ‘What games have you invented?’
Jake frowned, pretending to think. ‘Let me see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Have you heard of Moonraider? Space Spirals? Black Knights?’
Emily’s jaw had dropped. ‘You invented Black Knights?’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Jake shrugged. ‘You’ve played it, then?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Emily glanced over her shoulder. ‘Mummy bought me a Dreambox for Christmas.’
Jake pulled a wry face. ‘That was good of her.’
‘Why? Oh, God!’ Emily pressed both hands to her cheeks. ‘Did you invent Dreambox?’
‘I own Dreambox,’ Jake told her ruefully. ‘And I don’t think your mother would approve of you saying “Oh, God”, do you?’
‘Granny would report me to Father Joseph,’ agreed Emily, pulling a face. ‘I’d probably have to say a hundred Hail Marys for taking the Lord’s name in vain. But still—’ She stared at him admiringly. ‘You own Dreambox! Cool!’
Jake was surprised at how flattered he was by her reaction. She was only a child, but the hero-worship in her eyes felt good. He was genuinely pleased that she approved of him. It made him want to go out and buy her every game he’d marketed to date.
‘You wouldn’t—like—play Black Knights with me?’ she suggested suddenly. ‘Just till Mummy gets back, I mean. It would give us something to do.’
Jake hesitated. He had the feeling Isobel would not approve of this development. Okay, maybe she’d had some crazy idea that if she threw him and Emily together he might change his mind about her. But the arrangement had to be on her terms, not his.
To hell with that!
Looking at the girl’s expectant face, he made a gesture of acceptance. ‘Why not?’ he said, getting to his feet again. ‘Where’s your computer? In your room?’
Some time later, when Jake’s cellphone began to ring, he was shocked to find it was nearly seven o’clock. He’d been so absorbed in the game, which he’d discovered Emily played extremely well, that he’d forgotten the time. Dodging witches and goblins, vaulting over chasms where dragons lurked, laughing at the obstacles someone’s vivid imagination had created, he’d realised how much fun it was to play with someone who genuinely wanted to beat him. Apart from his second-in-command at McCabe Tectonics, everyone else he employed seemed keener on winning his approval than winning the game.
With a word of apology to the child, he strode back into the living room, where he’d left the phone, and glanced at the small screen with some misgivings. As he’d expected, it was Marcie’s number displayed there and she wasn’t pleased. ‘Where are you?’ she demanded. ‘I thought you were picking me up at seven o’clock.’
‘Seven-thirty,’ he amended, not knowing why he’d bothered making the distinction. Even if he left now, he wasn’t going to make it.
‘Okay, half-past seven,’ she conceded irritably. ‘So, are you on your way? I know you’re not at the house. I already tried there.’
Right.
Jake expelled a weary breath, and as he did so he heard the sound of Isobel’s key in the lock.
Well, it had to be Isobel, he mused blackly, aware that she couldn’t have chosen a more awkward time to return. Here he was, trying to placate his girlfriend, with his wife as an unwilling audience.
CHAPTER TWO (#u344ce1d8-27e1-56ac-9d92-ca63cf0e2383)
EMILY came into the room at that moment, too. She must have heard Isobel, and she bounded eagerly across the living room to meet her.
‘Daddy and I have been playing computer games,’ she exclaimed, by way of a greeting, and Jake didn’t have time to cover the mouthpiece of his phone before Marcie latched on to the anomaly.
‘Daddy and I?’ she spat angrily. ‘What’s going on, Jake? I thought you said you weren’t the kid’s father.’
‘I’m not.’
