comparison to my father, he was. Dympna’s dad not only
looked after his family, he made the streets safer for them too. I loved her stories of the things he got up to, and
although I knew she embellished them, it was obvious
that she took great delight in it all, too.
I reined in my thoughts. I was here for a reason. Not
just to pray, but to ask for help. But how? My anxieties
rose as I tried to orchestrate a way. My time in the base-
ment had left me unfit and out of shape. With the size of
my expanding midriff, running would not get me very
far. My glance fell to the prayer book, my thoughts on
the note nestled in my bra. Why hadn’t I put it up my
sleeve or in my pocket?
I sniffled, holding my hand to my nose. ‘Have you
got a tissue?’
George pulled a face before searching his pockets.
In the seconds his gaze was drawn away, I delved down
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my top for the note. Hiding it in the palm of my hand,
I took the tissue and gracefully blew my nose. George
checked his watch, making it obvious he would prefer to
be anywhere but here.
‘Just a couple of prayers,’ I whispered softly, picking
up the prayer book. It felt like fate that it had been left behind, and I slowly read through the words. The double
doors behind us clunked as members of the public entered
the church. Holding my breath, I deposited the note
between the pages of the prayer book, willing it into the
hands of someone who would help.
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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Roz
The traffic moved slowly in New York today, and our
driver kept his hand on the horn. Then I saw them. Two
police officers, leaning against their parked car. My heart skipped a beat. What would happen if I jumped out right
here and screamed for help? My hand crept to the car door
handle. The chances of my note being taken seriously were
slim to zero. I leaned forward, under George’s scrutiny,
pretending I was staring at the traffic ahead. Homesickness felt like a physical ache in my chest. I could not stand another second of this. But as I jerked on the door handle,
George turned to me. The expression on his face made
me afraid. He had a deadness behind his eyes. Not hate.
Not fear. Just a part of him that had died. What the hell
had Sheridan done to him?
‘It’s locked,’ he said, in a tone that matched his ex-
pression, and I sat back, folding my arms so tightly that
I was hugging myself.
With a start, the car moved forward, weaving in and
out of the traffic ahead. I watched the police disappear,
hope fading with each passing second. I never thought
I would get sick of this view. Of the luxury travel and
accommodation that I’d once craved. What I would give
to be sitting in the coffee shop with my mother, or to be
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on the receiving end of one of Dympna’s bone-crushing
hugs. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of the note
nestled in the prayer book. George had barely uttered a
word to me since leaving the church. I wiped away my
tears, catching his gaze. He knew Sheridan was keeping me
against my will. How could he sit there and let it happen?
If it was him planting the magazines, it was not enough.
‘Best you go straight to your room,’ George said, as we
entered Sheridan’s home. Since when did he start telling
me what to do? A sense of unease rose. Was he trying to
get me out of the way?
‘But my schedule…’ I said, the words dying in my
throat as I caught his glare. Eyes narrowed, he signalled
at me to do as he asked. I felt there was a message there.
Something unsaid, but a warning just the same.
I took the lift down to the basement and sat in my
room. Tugging the wig from my head, I unclipped the
bobby pins that had held it in place. Was I in trouble? Had something happened, or was it nothing to do with me?
My stomach growled. Lunchtime had passed and there
was no sign of my food. I went to the air vent and strained to listen to a muffled conversation between Daniel and
George. The pipes were knocking as the heating system
kicked into life, and I could barely make out their words.
Was Sheridan back yet? Their voices were low, and I knew
instinctively that they were talking about me.
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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Sheridan
From the moment she walked into her apartment, Sheridan
knew that something was wrong. Roz’s presence had
instigated drama after drama; but she had to admit, a
little piece of her enjoyed breaking the spirit of the young woman in her care. No longer was she fretting over her
fading acting career. She was the one in control. Even their fight had released a surge of adrenalin she had not
felt in a long time. Dormant feelings had been awoken
in the bedroom, too. Sex between her and Daniel had
always been good, but lately it was like nothing on earth.
He was a sucker for a damsel in distress and she would
take advantage of the primal instinct Roz had awoken
in him.
Roz could bear the stretchmarks and sickness, and
the pain of childbirth to come. Sheridan would keep her
perfect figure and pass the little girl off as her own. That baby was hers – all hers, and Roz was nothing more than a rented womb. Her meeting in LA had been a success.
She had taken Samantha, and together they had worked
out her schedule for the next month. Delegating as much
as she could, she put her absence down to her advancing
pregnancy but promised she would be back at the helm
soon. Her agent had lined her up with a plethora of deals
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for when the baby was born. Wearing the fake bump had
been cumbersome, and deflecting people’s grubby hands
away it was a task in itself.
She did not imagine in the short time she was gone
that she would have so much to face upon her return.
Walking along the hall she cast her eyes over the glossy
tiles, checking every surface was spotlessly clean. She
paused at the lift doors. The memory of her fight with
Roz still lingered: her blood dripping down the surface
of the lift doors as she prised them open. The taste of
metal in her mouth. It was a long time since anyone had
hurt her like that.
First came the phone call. A message from Daniel
telling her that he had allowed Roz to go to church.
Sheridan was furious, but by the time she had picked up
the message, Roz had already left. It was utterly frustrat-
ing. Daniel did things his way, then let her know as an
afterthought.
As Anna opened the lounge doors, Sheridan raised an
eyebrow at the sight of George standing with his back to
the fireplace. He was dressed like a street hoodlum, his
face stony, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked
as if he were about to face the firing squad.
‘It’s OK,’ Daniel said, as he t
ook in Sheridan’s worried
expression. ‘Roz is home safe and well. Juanita’s prepar-
ing her lunch now.’
‘Nice to see you, too.’ Sheridan frowned, waiting for
the ‘but’.
Wearing an apologetic smile, Daniel kissed her on
the cheek. The musky aroma of his aftershave still made
her stomach flip.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured, his breath warm on
her face. ‘How was your trip?’
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Caroline Mitchell
‘Good,’ she said, drawing away. He was not off the
hook yet.
Sighing, she wished she could kick off the heels
that were making the balls of her feet ache. Briefly
closing her eyes, she inhaled the delicate scent of burn-
ing logs. So that’s why Daniel wanted to meet in the
living room. She had once told him it was one of the
few places in the house where she felt truly relaxed.
Things must be bad.
Her thoughts returned to Roz, her frown deepening
a notch. ‘Where is she? Down below?’
‘Yes.’ Taking a seat in the leather wing chair, Daniel
spread his legs wide. George, on the other hand, had yet
to move an inch. ‘Nobody saw her at church,’ Daniel con-
tinued. ‘It all went as planned. Oh, and Monica called.
She sounded upset.’
Sheridan rolled her eyes. Monica would have to wait.
She turned to George. ‘If everything’s all right with Roz,
why do you look like you’re about to faint?’
‘I’m sorry,’ George said, his gaze creeping to Daniel.
‘I didn’t want to go.’
‘Baby, it’s not George’s fault,’ Daniel interrupted.
‘There was never anything to worry about.’ He relaxed
back into the chair, his eyes chasing the dance and sway
of the imitation flames in the fireplace. His beard had
grown, making him appear mature, relaxed, in control.
Sheridan wanted to shake him. After all her hard work
in LA! He couldn’t even see what he had done wrong.
‘Why don’t you get to the point so I can decide for
myself?’ she said.
Sheridan watched as George revealed the prayer book
he had been holding in his hands. Stiffly, he approached,
his mouth a thin white line of regret.
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The Perfect Mother
‘I found this in the church.’ Opening the book, he
produced a folded scrap of paper inside. ‘I saw Roz slip
it in when she was saying her prayers.’
Snapping the note from his outstretched fingers,
Sheridan raced over the words.
My name is Roz Foley. I am being held captive. By Sheridan Sinclair – basement apartment. Please send help. The note ended with a phone number next to the name Dympna.
‘I don’t believe this.’ Sheridan’s mouth fell open at the
prospect of the damage it could have caused. ‘What the
hell … is she up to?’ Her words were staggered, disbe-
lieving. ‘After everything we’ve done…’
‘She doesn’t know I found it,’ George replied, his
knuckles white as he clasped the prayer book. ‘I thought
you might like to deal with it yourself. Or if you prefer,
we could say nothing – keep up the pretence that we’re
friends.’
Sheridan turned to her husband, waving the piece
of paper before his face. ‘Now do you see? She’s been
scheming against us all this time.’ She shook her head in
disbelief as Daniel said nothing in return. ‘I’m over in LA, working my buns off to get us sponsorship deals, when
all the while you’re playing the good guy. How could
you let her wander around New York? She’s pregnant
with my child!’ Sheridan’s voice raised an octave. ‘What
would it do to us if this got out? Our careers would be
over. Don’t you get how serious this is?’
But when it came to Roz, Daniel was not one to
apologise. ‘I sent George to keep an eye on her and that’s
exactly what he did. What do you want me to do?’
‘That’s a discussion for later.’ Sliding the note into
her dress pocket, Sheridan turned to George. Her voice
lowered, she was back in control. ‘Do you know what’s
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really bothering me about all this? How quickly Roz got spooked. Anyone would think there was someone
whispering poison in her ear.’ Stepping towards him, she
nailed him with her gaze. In the background rose the
crack and hiss of artificial flames. ‘You wouldn’t happen
to know anything about that, would you?’
‘What? Me? Of course not. I’d never gossip about you.’
‘You say that, but Roz has been jumpy from day one.
Why do you think that is? Do you know something I
don’t? Does she?’
George inhaled a breath to speak, paused, then swal-
lowed his words.
‘Spit it out,’ Sheridan replied. ‘Don’t hold back.’
‘Well…’ George continued. ’She wants to go home.
She thinks you’re keeping her prisoner. That’s why she’s
so scared.’
‘Prisoner indeed,’ Sheridan snorted. ‘We’re making
sure she sticks to the terms of the agreement, which was
that she would stay here until the baby’s born. I’ve been
photographed in public with a bump. I’ve struck deals.
She can’t leave now.’
George’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘I
think she’s worried about what will happen to her once
the baby is born.’ He stood like an errant schoolboy,
staring at the floor.
A dark chuckle left Sheridan’s lips. ‘And what do you
think will happen to her, George?’ she said, approaching
him. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? Gobble her
up? Like we’re in some kind of fairy tale?’ She was enjoy-
ing playing with him. ‘How’s your mother these days?’
‘Not good. They’ve put her on new medication but
the cancer’s spreading.’
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The Perfect Mother
‘Such a shame,’ Sheridan tutted, sounding anything
but sympathetic. ‘But she’s comfortable, yes? In that nice
private ward, being waited on hand and foot?’
‘Yes, very.’ George cleared his throat.
‘Do you remember what it was like before, when you
couldn’t afford the medication? How you had to clean up
after her? You wouldn’t want to go back to that again,
now would you?’
George responded with a tight shake of the head.
Sheridan ran a manicured nail over the back of his
shoulders. ‘She’s so lucky, having a son like you … unlike
my mother. She wasn’t lucky at all.’ Her words hanging
in the air, she monitored his expression for a spark of
defiance. But there was only fear. Good. Satisfied, she turned on her heel.
‘Where are you going?’ Daniel called after her, deliver-
ing a warning glare. His annoyance at her game-playing
was evident. It did not faze Sheridan. He shouldn’t have
gone against her wishes in the first place.
‘To get Roz, of course. Stay where you are. It’s time
/>
we had this out with her.’
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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Roz
By the time lunch arrived, my appetite had vanished.
Something was going on upstairs. Sheridan was home.
The thought of her discovering my note was enough to
chill the blood in my veins. What if somebody had gone
to her instead of the police? But surely she wasn’t that easily contactable? I checked behind Juanita’s shoulder as she approached me with a tray of food. Her face was gaunt,
her eyes full of knowing, the air thick with unspoken
words. She must understand a little English, surely?
‘Juanita, please … por favor … I know you understand.’
I touched her wrist as she lay the tray on the small circular table, wishing I could remember more of the language I
had once tried to learn. Surely she could see I was being
kept against my will? I could rush her, push her out of
the way and get as far as the lift. But she was broad and
strong and I had the baby to think of. Neither did I want
to be sedated again. I was stuck down here like a rat in
a cage waiting to be experimented on.
But Juanita was acting as if I did not exist at all; she
just slipped her hand away. The tray held my supplements,
a plate of tuna sandwiches, a protein yoghurt and a glass
of juice. I would pour that down the toilet later on. I’d
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The Perfect Mother
rather drink bottled water than chance it. Frustration
burned as I tried to communicate in broken Spanish.
‘ Soy … um … soy irlanda…’ I muttered. ‘What’s the word for help?’ They didn’t teach that in language class.
‘ Mi casa irlanda … estoy triste, muy mal…’ I groaned. This was no use. I was throwing random Spanish words together. ‘Please,’ I said, my words falling on deaf ears. ‘Go to the Irish embassy. Tell them my name is Roz Foley.
I’m being kept prisoner.’ I spoke to her back as she turned to walk away. Tears gathered in the corner of my eyes.
I stood, cumbersome as I followed her to the lift. ‘Kelly
… she was here before me, wasn’t she? What happened
to her?’ I paused for a reply, but no words were returned.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘You won’t get into trouble. I’ll help
you. Keep you safe.’
I wanted to scream. It was as if I was trapped behind
glass and she could not hear a word I said. In reality, there was little I could do if Juanita was an illegal alien or if Sheridan had something else on her. We both knew that
as soon as I was free, I would disappear back to Ireland.
The Perfect Mother (ARC) Page 25
