Sinful Truths

by Anne Mather

  Tearing off her gloves, she dropped them into the wheel-barrow she had been using to collect the rotten undergrowth and, with a word of apology to Mr Edwards, started back towards the house.

  Emily, seeing a chance to abandon her own task, threw down her spike and followed her. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to tell Granny that we’ve had a visitor?’

  The face Isobel turned on her daughter was not pleasant. ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘No, I am not going to tell your grandmother that we’ve had a visitor. Piers Mallory is not welcome here.’

  Emily looked puzzled. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s not to be trusted,’ declared Isobel after a moment, finding it difficult to find any words that described how she felt about the man. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. ‘I’m ready for a break, that’s all.’

  She didn’t know if Emily believed her, but she didn’t much care. She’d never dreamt that Piers might attempt to rekindle their association. When her mother had begged to be allowed to return to Mattingley, Isobel hadn’t even considered the fact that Piers still lived in the district. And, even if she had, after what had happened she’d have been sure he’d keep away.

  Lady Hannah was just coming down the stairs as they came into the hall from the kitchen. They’d left their outdoor shoes in the boot room, but the old lady’s eyes went straight to the smears of mud that adorned Isobel’s shirt and trousers.

  ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ she exclaimed, heading as usual for the conservatory. ‘You look like a mudlark, Isobel. I hope no one saw you.’

  Emily’s mouth opened and Isobel was sure she was going to tell her grandmother about Piers’s visit. But then she looked at her mother and closed it again, lifting her shoulders in a gesture of submission.

  ‘We’ve been helping Mr Edwards in the garden,’ Isobel replied tersely, grateful for the reprieve. ‘How are you? Can I get you anything?’

  ‘Well, not until you’ve changed those dirty clothes,’ declared her mother shortly. ‘Emily, you can go and tell Mrs Edwards I’m ready for my morning coffee. Then you can come and join me. I want to hear how you’re enjoying your stay at Mattingley.’

  Emily exchanged a speaking look with her mother, and then said obediently, ‘Yes, Granny,’ and darted away without a backward glance.

  When she’d gone, however, Lady Hannah fixed her daughter with an enquiring stare. ‘Something’s happened,’ she said, with her usual shrewdness. She supported herself by holding onto the banister and waited impatiently for Isobel to answer her. ‘You might as well tell me. I’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘From Em, no doubt,’ said Isobel bitterly, pushing the loose strands of hair back behind her ears. ‘Oh, all right. Piers turned up about a quarter of an hour ago. He seems to think he can walk in here any time he likes and I’ll just accept it.’ She shook her head. ‘He must be crazy!’

  ‘Piers Mallory?’

  ‘Do you know another Piers?’

  ‘I may do.’ Her mother thought for a moment. ‘I believe our local MP used to be called Piers, too. Piers Otteringham.’ She grimaced. ‘But of course he died a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Oh, Mama!’

  ‘Well…’ Lady Hannah gave her an indignant look. ‘You asked me a question and I answered it.’ She paused. ‘What did he want?’

  Isobel sighed. ‘I’ve told you. He behaved as if nothing had happened. As if I’d be pleased to see him.’

  ‘And you weren’t?’

  Isobel stared at the older woman. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you could have done much worse than Piers Mallory,’ retorted her mother staunchly. ‘At least he has breeding.’

  ‘Breeding? Is that what you call it?’ Isobel was sickened by her mother’s hypocrisy. ‘He’s a cheat and a liar and you know it.’

  Lady Hannah shrugged, but Isobel could see that her words had found their mark. Nevertheless, the unaccustomed activity was beginning to tire the old lady. Her thin fingers were clinging doggedly to the stair post but she was obviously wilting by the minute.

  ‘He had money,’ she insisted as a final salvo. ‘Mattingley needed money more than it needed another dependant.’

  Isobel shook her head. ‘You and I will never agree about that,’ she said, taking her mother’s arm. ‘Come on. I’ll help you into the conservatory.’

  ‘I can manage.’

  Lady Hannah tried to shake her off, but she was unsteady on her feet and was obliged to lean heavily on her daughter as they moved away from the stairs. It wasn’t until she was settled comfortably in her chair in the conservatory that she was able to breathe easily again.

  ‘Now I’ll go and get changed,’ said Isobel drily. ‘Em won’t be long.’

  ‘I don’t need babysitting,’ returned her mother, plucking impatiently at her skirt. Then, almost reluctantly, she added, ‘I know you think I didn’t care about your happiness at all, but I did. If I’d known Jake was going to—’

  She broke off then, but Isobel had to hear all of it. ‘If you’d known Jake what?’ she demanded, and the old lady sighed.

  ‘If I’d known he was going to become so wealthy,’ she said slowly, ‘I—I might not have—behaved as I did.’

  ‘Opposing our marriage, you mean?’ Isobel frowned, but Emily’s footsteps could be heard crossing the polished boards of the morning room and Lady Hannah gave a sigh.

  ‘What else?’ she asked, composing her face for the child’s entrance. Then, with her usual acerbity, ‘Go and tidy yourself, Isobel, do. Your appearance is an offence to your position.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  JAKE made good time up the M1. It was a while since he’d given the Porsche such a long outing, and the powerful engine simply ate up the miles between the service area at Watford Gap and the M18 turn-off.

  He was balked a bit when he got onto the A1. But once he left motorways behind and got onto the country roads the Friday night traffic was lighter and much less aggressive. The rush hour was behind him now and it was too early for drunken joy-riders to become a menace.

  A glance at his watch told him it was a little after eight o’clock, and he wondered if Isobel and her family had eaten yet. He guessed they probably had, and he was tempted to stop at the pub in West Woodcroft and buy himself a pub supper.

  But a desire to get the journey over drove him on, and he turned between Mattingley’s gateposts with a sense of relief. He hadn’t realised until then how tired he was, and he wondered again why he had chosen to drive all this way at the end of what had been a bloody awful week.

  Of course, Marcie wasn’t around to voice her disapproval. He’d arrived back in London last Monday morning to find she had left for a photo-shoot in Jamaica and wouldn’t be back for nine days. The message she’d left for him had been cool, to say the least, but in his current state of turmoil Jake had been only too glad for the respite.

  Of course, she’d phoned him several times since then, no doubt regretting her impulsiveness, but Jake had his own reasons for feeling peeved. Marcie had sworn she wasn’t going to do any more photographic modelling now that they were together, but apparently her lack of success in the TV business had persuaded her she’d be a fool to turn down such easy money.

  Jake could see her point, but he chose not to voice it. In all honesty he was finding it difficult to drum up any strong feelings where Marcie’s antics were concerned. He found her efforts to provoke him rather childish, and he was glad there were several thousand miles between them. Maybe by the time she came home he’d have recovered his sense of humour. Right now, he was out of sync with himself—and her as well.

  It was this feeling of imminent chaos that had bugged him all week. Even work, his usual saviour in times of stress, wasn’t helping, and those employees he’d come up against in the course of business had had to bear the brunt of his black mood. Even Shane had not been immune from Jake’s acrimony, but unlike the rest of his staff he’d had the guts to ask
what the hell was wrong with him.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me, pal.’ Jake had rounded on him angrily. ‘Nothing that a few intelligent decisions couldn’t put right, anyway. It’s not my fault I’m surrounded by morons. For God’s sake, who do they think is running this place? Them or me?’

  ‘I think you should chill out, pal,’ retorted Shane flatly. ‘What’s wrong with you, McCabe? It’s not my fault that your girlfriend has decided to flash her boobs for someone else instead of you.’

  Jake glared at him. ‘You know, Harper, if anyone else had said that—’

  ‘I know. You’d have flattened them,’ agreed Shane, not without a little bravado. ‘But come on, Jake. That is what’s wrong with you, isn’t it? Dammit, I can’t believe you’re all cut up over that little—female!’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Jake was sullen and Shane’s eyes widened. ‘You’re not? So what is wrong with you? I can’t believe you couldn’t get laid if you wanted to.’

  Jake sucked in his breath. ‘Is that all you think Marcie and I have going for us?’ he demanded, flinging himself into the chair behind his desk and folding his hands behind his head. ‘What? I’ve asked her to marry me because she’s good in bed?’

  Shane had the grace to look contrite. ‘Well, she’s not exactly brain of Britain, is she?’ he muttered unwillingly. ‘But what do I know? I guess she’s nothing like Isobel, and that’s a plus.’

  ‘You think?’

  Jake gave him a challenging look and once again Shane was nonplussed. ‘Well, isn’t it?’ he asked, staring at his friend in amazement. ‘For pity’s sake, Jake, don’t tell me you’re still hung up over your ex-wife!’

  ‘My soon-to-be-ex-wife,’ Jake corrected him automatically, and then dropped his hands onto the desk and sat forward again, hunching his shoulders. Then, ‘No,’ he growled irritably. ‘I’m just—worried about her, that’s all. Stuck up there in Mattingley with a kid and an old woman. You should have seen the place, Shane. Wuthering Heights without the modern conveniences!’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I’m not. If I hadn’t been there, God knows how they’d have managed.’

  Shane regarded him suspiciously. ‘You’re not seeing yourself as some kind of latter-day Heathcliff, I hope?’

  ‘Please.’ Jake swore and pushed himself up from the desk. ‘Like I say, I’m worried about her, that’s all.’

  ‘Right.’ Shane folded his arms across his midriff. ‘So why didn’t you do something about it?’

  ‘I did.’ Jake went to stand at the windows, looking down at the traffic so many floors below. As always, he felt the confines of the city pressing around him. More so now, after spending some time in the Yorkshire dales. ‘I got a pal from Leeds who owns an interior decorating business to come and give the place the once-over. His men are redecorating a couple of the downstairs living rooms as we speak.’

  ‘Sounds as if you’ve got it all in hand,’ remarked Shane drily. ‘I have to admit I wouldn’t have expected Isobel to want your help.’

  ‘She didn’t,’ said Jake grimly. ‘If it hadn’t been for the old lady she’d have told me what to do with my offer.’

  ‘Ah.’ Shane sounded as if he was beginning to understand. ‘And that’s what’s bugging you?’

  ‘No.’ Jake swung round indignantly. But his friend’s disbelieving face was his undoing. ‘Okay,’ he said harshly. ‘Yeah, it bugs me. I don’t owe that woman anything. Not any one thing, Shane. I just wish she was out of my hair.’

  Shane pulled a wry face. ‘Right.’

  ‘Oh, stop saying “right” like some bloody counsellor,’ snapped his employer savagely. ‘I’m trying to do my best here. And she hasn’t even had the decency to ring and tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I don’t suppose she knew she had to report to you,’ murmured Shane mildly, and Jake scowled.

  ‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’

  ‘Okay.’ Shane pretended to consider for a moment. ‘Why don’t you go up there and see for yourself? Marcie’s away. She’s not going to know where you are. Give yourself a break.’

  Jake glowered at him from beneath lowered lids. ‘Is that what you’d do?’

  ‘Hey—’ Shane held up his hands in mock defence. ‘It’s not my problem. I just think you have to decide why you still feel such responsibility for a woman you say cheated on you and, moreover, has had a child by another man.’

  It was sound advice, but Jake had spent the rest of Thursday and Friday morning arguing the pros and cons. He knew it would have been easy enough to find out what was going on. A simple call to Andrew Hardy of Hardy Interiors would have satisfied his curiosity about the redecoration. But it was Isobel and her mother and daughter he wanted to check on, and he had the feeling that he’d get no easy answers from his wife.

  So here he was, back in Yorkshire, with no expectation that any of them would be really glad to see him. Lady Hannah might be pleased that he was checking on his investment, and Emily had her own reasons for wanting him here. But Isobel would probably see this as another attempt on his part to humiliate her. After what he’d said and done she had every reason to despise him.

  If she only knew, he thought grimly, parking his car in front of the garages and turning to hoist his haversack from the floor in front of the passenger seat. His nerves were already taut at the thought of seeing her again, and he’d hardly given Marcie a thought since he’d got behind the wheel of the Porsche.

  And how insane was that?

  Deciding not to push his luck, he left his haversack in the car, thrusting open his door to get out. Just because Isobel had been willing to accommodate him last weekend that was no reason to assume she’d still feel the same. Their tenuous truce had been broken, and he didn’t know how—or even if—he should try to mend it.

  But he was here, for whatever reason, and he would play the cards as they were dealt to him. Shane was right. It was time he got Isobel out of his system. And if that wasn’t exactly what his friend had said, it was the way he’d chosen to take it.

  He had locked the car and was flexing his back muscles in the chilly evening air when the door of the house opened and Emily came rushing down the steps towards him. She had evidently heard the Porsche’s engine and he wondered if Isobel had heard it, too. If so, she was making no effort to greet him. Perhaps she’d sent Emily out to test the waters, he mused bitterly, but the contempt that gripped him at that particular thought was mostly for himself.

  ‘Hi,’ Emily exclaimed, omitting the word ‘Daddy’ for once, and Jake wondered if that was deliberate, too. Whatever, he should be grateful for it. She seemed to be resisting the urge to hug him and jammed her hands on her narrow hips. ‘What are you doing here?’

  You may well ask, brooded Jake, unwilling to examine his motives at that moment. ‘I—er—I want to see your mother,’ he said, raking back his hair with impatient fingers. ‘And your grandmother, of course. How is she?’

  Emily looked thoughtful. ‘She’s okay. I think.’ She skipped along beside him as he started towards the house. ‘Is Mummy expecting you?’

  Hardly, thought Jake, despising the sudden sense of anticipation he felt at the thought of seeing Isobel again. But, ‘No,’ he answered evenly, glancing around and noticing for the first time that the Range Rover was absent. ‘Where is she? Where’s the car?’

  ‘Oh, she’s out,’ said Emily breezily, going ahead of him, unaware that her words had had such a violent effect on her companion. ‘Excuse the smell,’ she added, as they entered the hall. ‘It’s the paint. Granny says it’s a necessary evil.’

  ‘Good of her,’ muttered Jake, struggling to control his reaction to what the child had said. Isobel wasn’t here? So where the hell was she? Where on earth would she go with a sick mother and a young child to care for? Who did she know in the district to be paying social calls at this hour of the evening?

  Piers Mallory!

  Jake’s stomach clenched.

&nb
sp; It was crazy but even the thought of Piers Mallory caused an actual feeling of sickness in his gut. Despite the fact that he’d told himself many times that Piers had not been to blame for what had happened, he hadn’t been able to forgive him. The other man would always be the bastard who had slept with his best friend’s wife, who had cared so little for their relationship that he’d allowed a provocative woman to tear them apart.

  Not for the first time Jake felt a savage twist of jealousy. Why had she done it? he wondered. What possible satisfaction had she gained from taking Piers Mallory into her bed? Despite the fact that when he and Isobel had been together they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off one another, she’d spent her time at Mattingley seducing another man.

  It was sick, and his skin crawled at the memory of how he’d felt when he’d found out. He’d turned up unexpectedly, summoned by Lady Hannah to drive her and Isobel back to London. They’d expected him on Saturday morning but he’d driven up on Friday night instead. And found Isobel in bed with Piers Mallory, too drunk—or too indifferent—to be ashamed of what she’d done.

  Of course, he’d thrown Piers out of the house, threatening him with God knew what if he came near Isobel again, but the damage had been done. No matter how long or how often Isobel pleaded her innocence, he could not forget what had happened. In time, he had hoped he might find it in his heart to forgive her. He’d loved her so much, and he’d wanted to put the past behind them. But they hadn’t even been approaching that point when Isobel had told him she was pregnant.

  Pregnant!

  He’d wanted to vomit at the news. It had been weeks since he and Isobel had had any sexual relations, and in any case she’d been taking the Pill. The only explanation he could find was that while she’d been staying at Mattingley she’d been as careless with birth control as with everything else. After three years of avoiding an unwanted pregnancy, Jake had known it could only be her affair with Mallory that had produced such a result.