Sinful Truths

by Anne Mather

  ‘Pride’s a pretty cold bedfellow if your house is falling down about your ears,’ retorted Jake, striding across the room and taking the kettle out of her hand. Then, grasping her arm, he turned on the cold tap and held her burning wrist under its spray. ‘Don’t worry, Belle. I can afford it. It’s a small price to pay to keep that old harridan off my back.’

  Isobel quivered. It was a long time since he’d touched her, since she had been this close to him, her senses assaulted by his distinctive smell. It mingled with the lingering fragrance of the aftershave he’d used that morning, the clean male scent of his body overlaid by a heated trace of sweat that was evident when the sides of his jacket moved apart.

  It was all so intimate, so familiar, and she longed to turn into him and press her hot face against his chest.

  She remembered distinctly how he would feel, how the taut muscles of his stomach would tighten against her midriff. She could feel her breasts pebbling now, in anticipation of his nearness, feel the liquid heat of her own arousal throbbing like a pulse between her legs.

  Dear God, it was madness, but she still wanted him, wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her, supporting her, comforting her…

  Yes, that was it, she told herself fiercely, latching onto anything to save her crumbling self-respect. After the day she’d had, after the things she’d learned about her mother, she was desperate for any comfort, any affection. She felt so alone, so helpless in the face of her mother’s illness, so vulnerable against the demands she continued to make, that she was ready to welcome any overture, however innocent it might be.

  But she made the mistake of looking up at him, and whatever Jake saw in her face was enough to alert him to the dangers of the situation. ‘Just keep it under the water for a few more seconds,’ he said stiffly, his words so prosaic and practical that for a moment she found it difficult to comprehend what he was saying. But he’d dropped her arm and moved back from her, and she was instantly aware of what she had done.

  And despised herself anew for letting him see how pathetically needful she was.

  Turning off the tap, she grabbed a kitchen towel from the roll and blotted her wrist. The skin had reddened, but it was much easier now, and after resetting the kettle on its hob she forced herself to face him.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice equally as neutral as his. ‘I’ll have to take more care in future.’

  ‘Yeah.’ And, as if Jake had decided to take his cue from her, he added, ‘Are you all right? You got quite a shock there.’

  ‘I’ve been scalded before,’ she said, taking mugs from the shelf. ‘Do you want some tea?’

  Jake hesitated, and she could almost see him mentally glancing at his watch. ‘Whatever,’ he said at last, apparently deciding he had something more to say. ‘So how is the old girl? You never did get around to telling me.’

  Isobel concentrated on taking teabags from the box. ‘She’s—dying, actually,’ she said offhandedly, unable to handle it any other way. ‘I forget—do you take milk and sugar?’

  Jake’s oath overrode her enquiry, and the teabags scattered as he grasped her by the shoulders and swung her round to face him. ‘She’s what?’

  Isobel couldn’t look at him. Not now, when she was so close to the edge. ‘I think you heard what I said,’ she said, once again compelled to confront her weakness where he was concerned. She glanced about her. ‘I must pick up the teabags—’

  ‘To hell with the teabags,’ muttered Jake savagely, his hands on her shoulders flexing with the agitation in his voice. ‘Dammit, Belle, why didn’t you tell me it was this serious? I thought the operation had been a success.’

  ‘So did we,’ Isobel admitted, making a concerted effort to break free. ‘Jake, the kettle’s boiling. If you don’t let me go it’s going to fill the place with steam.’

  Jake looked down at her half impatiently. She was aware of his eyes upon her, aware that this time there was more than frustration in his stare. But she didn’t make the mistake of meeting his gaze, however easy it would have been to take advantage of his sympathy. If he comforted her now it would be a mechanical thing, at best, and she couldn’t bear to be the recipient of such dispassionate emotion.

  ‘Jake,’ she said again, lifting her hands and pressing him away from her, and this time he seemed to realise that she might misinterpret his actions.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, opening his fingers and letting her move out of his grasp. But she noticed that his hands balled into fists before falling to his sides, and she realised that learning of her mother’s imminent demise had been a shock to him, too.

  However, he pulled himself together sufficiently to help her gather up the teabags from the floor, and when their eyes accidentally met he didn’t immediately look away. Instead, for the minutest space of time, she glimpsed something much darker than sympathy in his gaze and her breathing quickened to a laboured gasp.

  Then he swung away, dropping the teabags he’d collected on the counter and walking almost reflexively towards the door. She guessed he wanted to go, to get out of there before he said or did something he’d regret. But something—some desire to satisfy himself that she hadn’t been lying to him, perhaps—caused him to stop and turn back.

  ‘So what’s the prognosis?’ he asked shortly. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘I just found out today,’ replied Isobel, keeping her voice steady with an effort. She lifted the kettle and filled the pot before continuing doggedly, ‘It appears there has been a serious deterioration in her condition. It can happen. The doctor believes the disease has spread to the arteries. In layman’s terms, she’s suffering from heart failure.’

  ‘Heart failure?’ Jake shook his head. ‘Isn’t that what happens when you have a heart attack?’

  ‘Apparently not.’ Isobel moistened her lips. ‘Heart attacks are caused by a blockage of the arteries. Heart failure, as the name implies, takes much longer. Weeks, maybe even months.’

  Jake blew out a breath. ‘And does she know?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You think so?’ Jake stared at her. ‘Surely you didn’t—?’

  ‘No one’s actually told her she’s dying,’ exclaimed Isobel fiercely. ‘What do you think we are? Heartless?’ She pulled a face at the involuntary pun and then made an impatient gesture. ‘You know Lady Hannah. She’s not stupid. She knows something’s wrong. That’s why she wants—’

  She broke off then, aware that she was in danger of confiding in a man to whom her mother’s failing health could only be a bonus. If he had been giving her money it would doubtless be a relief to be free of that responsibility.

  But Jake was waiting for her to go on and, forcing a faint smile, she said, ‘Let’s just say that’s why she’s already started making demands.’

  ‘What demands?’

  Jake’s immediate response didn’t give her time to think of a convincing explanation. ‘This and that,’ she said, hoping he’d take the hint and not pursue it. ‘Um—shall we go into the living room?’

  ‘What demands?’ asked Jake again, and although Isobel had been about to pick up the tray, she wrapped her arms about herself instead.

  She could feel the chilliness of her skin beneath the thin material of her blouse, but she knew it wasn’t just the coolness of the apartment that was to blame. ‘Do you care?’ she demanded at last, when it seemed obvious he was determined to have an answer. ‘Our affairs are nothing to do with you. You’ve told me so I don’t know how many times.’

  ‘Isobel!’

  ‘Oh—all right.’ With a sigh, she gave in. ‘She wants to go back to Yorkshire.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Jake was stunned. ‘But she hasn’t lived there for years. Not since—not since—’

  ‘Just after we split up?’ Isobel finished tightly. ‘I know that. Nevertheless, she has always considered Mattingley her real home.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘She even insisted on Emily being born there.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jake spoke
grimly. ‘Well— But dammit, Belle, the place has to be rundown, and damp. Hell, it’s only six months since she was telling me the roof was leaking. She can’t stay there now.’

  Isobel lifted her shoulders. ‘Do you want to tell her that?’

  Jake stifled an oath. ‘She’s crazy.’

  ‘No. Just old,’ said Isobel softly. ‘And afraid of the future. Perhaps she thinks she might get better at Mattingley. Whatever, somehow I’m going to take her there. It’s the least I can do.’

  Jake raked impatient fingers through his hair. ‘You’re going to take a sick woman to a practically derelict property? Get real, Belle. Do you have any idea how much work will be entailed? Apart from anything else it will need a thorough clean-out.’

  Isobel held up her head. ‘The Edwardses still live there,’ she said with dignity. ‘They’ll have kept it in reasonable order.’

  ‘The Edwardses were old when we got married,’ retorted Jake roughly. ‘Okay, they may have ensured that any necessary repairs were reported, and that the place didn’t get infested with bugs or other vermin. But Mattingley is too big for two people to cope with—particularly two people who must be in their eighties by now.’

  ‘Their seventies, actually,’ said Isobel stiffly, aware that he was only voicing her own fears and resenting him because of it. ‘We’ll manage.’

  Jake stared at her. ‘What about this place? What about your job?’ He paused. ‘What about Emily’s schooling?’

  Isobel gave him a cynical look. ‘Like you care.’

  Jake’s fists clenched. ‘Okay,’ he said harshly, and she knew she had gone too far. ‘Do what you like.’ He paused, and then added coldly, ‘And keep that kid the hell away from my office, right?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LUCY had rescheduled Jake’s trip to Brussels for Tuesday. As well as meeting his European supplier, he also wanted to see the minister involved, and he couldn’t make it on Monday.

  Which was just as well, Jake thought, when he arrived at work on Monday morning. After the weekend he’d had he was in no mood to conduct delicate negotiations, and the bottle of single malt he’d downed before going to bed had left his head feeling as thick as a plank with nails that bored into his skull.

  Thankfully, Lucy wasn’t yet at her desk, and Jake was able to make the comparative sanctuary of his office without incident. He knew he looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved before he left home, and the V-necked sweatshirt he was wearing under a leather jacket was the same one he’d been wearing the day before.

  He slumped into the chair behind his desk, wishing he’d picked up a cup of coffee from the machine before he’d holed up here. Several shots of caffeine might make his brain feel clearer, but he doubted it. The way he felt right now, nothing but time would cure him of his hangover.

  The phone, with its sophisticated call-system, mocked him. Marcie would be expecting him to call, he knew, but he still didn’t know what he was going to say to her. He knew what she wanted him to say, what she expected him to say, but it wasn’t that easy.

  How could he expect Isobel to cope with their divorce on top of everything else? He couldn’t do that to her. And, what was more, he didn’t want to hurt her in that way. Not in the present circumstances. Okay, maybe she hadn’t always been as scrupulous of his feelings, but he knew how fragile she was right now and he didn’t want to be the one to break her.

  And he sensed that that would.

  Which was why he had spent most of the weekend fighting both Marcie—and his own conscience.

  His girlfriend—probably not unreasonably—had been furious when she’d heard about Emily’s visit to his office. Despite what he’d told her about Isobel having to come to terms with the fact that her mother was dying, Marcie’s main objection had been that the girl had had the nerve to turn up uninvited. She wouldn’t accept that Isobel had known nothing about it. She was convinced it was a ploy to persuade him that the child was his, and to embarrass her.

  Of course, Jake had insisted that it had all been perfectly innocent, that no harm had been done, but Marcie hadn’t swallowed that. The fact was Emily had announced herself as his daughter, and in Marcie’s eyes that was unforgivable.

  And it was. In his more aggressive moments he had to admit she had a point. If Isobel had wanted to embarrass him—embarrass both of them—she couldn’t have chosen a better way to do it, and it was only because he knew his wife had spent much of the afternoon at the hospital that he’d accepted she was innocent of any wrongdoing. Besides, he’d known at once that he was the very last person she’d wanted to see when she had let herself into the apartment on Friday evening. Her reaction had proved that.

  His mouth compressed. He didn’t want to think about it, but it bugged him no end that Isobel looked so tired all the time. Okay, she was having a tough week, what with her mother and all, but he objected to the way she looked at him, as if he was personally responsible for the mess she’d made of her life.

  Nevertheless, that didn’t alter the fact that the row he’d had with Marcie on Saturday morning was still unresolved. Her complete indifference to the demands of the situation had really got to him, and after what she’d said when he’d explained that he’d had to postpone his trip to Belgium he hadn’t even broached the concerns he had about Isobel and Lady Hannah going to live in that derelict old mansion in Yorkshire.

  Dammit, he thought, at the very least the place was going to need a thorough spring-cleaning, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Isobel would be the one to do it…

  But that wasn’t his problem, he rebuked himself angrily. Why couldn’t he accept that, as Marcie had said, it wasn’t his concern? After all, she hadn’t wanted to believe that Lady Hannah’s illness was even genuine.

  ‘It’s very convenient,’ she’d declared callously. ‘The old woman choosing this particular moment to develop a life-threatening condition.’

  ‘I don’t think she chose it,’ Jake had replied mildly, holding onto his temper with an effort. ‘She had open-heart surgery last year. There was nothing convenient about that.’

  Marcie’s eyes had sparked. ‘And you know this because…?’

  ‘Emily told me,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Emily!’ Marcie’s expression had hardened. ‘Isobel’s little bastard! She told you. And, of course, her word is so much more convincing than mine.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous!’

  Hearing Emily described in those terms once again had pricked a nerve, and Jake had found himself defending the child with more passion than intellect. The upshot was that the argument had deteriorated from that point on and they’d both ended up saying things they didn’t necessarily mean. Jake had spent the rest of the weekend regretting the incident—but not enough to pick up the phone and make amends.

  But now it was Monday morning, and he knew he would have to do something to heal the breach. He might be feeling sorry for Isobel, he told himself irritably, but it was Marcie he loved. Marcie he was going to marry, as soon as he could get a divorce…

  A knock at his door saved him from the perversity of his thoughts. ‘Yeah?’ he called, hoping it wasn’t Lucy, coming to find out what had happened to his ‘daughter’, and nodded in some relief when Shane Harper poked his head into the room.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Shane asked doubtfully, the closed door so unusual he’d felt compelled to ask. ‘I’ve got coffee.’

  ‘Just what I need,’ said Jake, getting out of his chair to take the mug his friend was offering. ‘Mmm, that’s good. Black enough to lead a stove, as my old gran used to say.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had an old gran,’ remarked Shane drily, lounging onto the sofa by the windows, and Jake pulled a wry face.

  ‘Everybody has an old gran,’ he countered, propping his hips against his desk. ‘We don’t always get to know them, that’s all.’

  Shane regarded him sceptically. ‘And you knew yours?’

  ‘No.’ Jake arched mocking brows. ‘But it�
�s what she would have said if I had.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Shane was laconic. ‘I’d have said it was just a couple of shades darker than the bags beneath your eyes, pal. What happened to you? You look like hell!’

  Jake regarded him from between narrowed lids. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Hey, no sweat!’ Shane was on a roll. ‘I guess finding out you’ve got a daughter you didn’t know you had can do that to you.’

  Jake’s brows drew together. ‘Don’t go there, Harper.’

  ‘Why not?’ Shane was defensive now. ‘Luce told me she was your daughter. Where’s the harm in that?’

  Jake scowled. He should have known Lucy would be unable to keep Emily’s identity to herself. Besides, Pete Warden, the doorman, had sent her up in the lift. If he knew about it, everybody would. Just because Shane hadn’t been around when Emily arrived that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have heard the gossip.

  ‘She’s—Isobel’s daughter,’ Jake muttered, despising himself for not being more positive. ‘I guess she wanted to see where I worked.’

  ‘Right.’ Shane looked only a little less apprehensive. He shook his head. ‘I didn’t even know Isobel had got married again.’

  Jake gritted his teeth. ‘She hasn’t.’

  ‘Then—’

  ‘She had Emily after we split up,’ he said flatly, taking a gulp of his coffee and almost scalding his mouth in the process. ‘God, this is hot!’

  Shane was still looking doubtful, however, and Jake knew he must be wondering what the hell he’d meant. Giving in to a totally selfish desire to exonerate himself, he said, ‘Emily’s not my daughter.’

  Shane blinked. ‘So who is her father?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  His friend frowned. ‘Come on, Jake, you’ve got to know. Isobel didn’t sleep around.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Shane flushed. ‘Well, not through trying,’ he said shortly. ‘Dammit, Jake, Luce said the kid was at least ten or eleven. How long is it since you and Isobel split up?’