by Susan Lewis
“I don’t know, I’m quoting them, but I’m told we’ll know more soon. Oh, and they want the whole thing to be outside if possible, so they’re borrowing heaters from Leanne and Tom. My job, apparently, is to decorate the house for Christmas . . .”
“Ah, so it’s also a Christmas party?”
“Let’s just call it a party. And we want to have one. Don’t we?”
“We do, so let’s get started on this Wellington that I’m guessing will be dinner tonight no matter how it turns out.”
Assuring him he was right, she began opening cupboard doors and passing him the ingredients they were going to need.
It wasn’t long before they were so engrossed in their task, along with listening to a play on Radio 4, that they didn’t hear another car pulling up outside. They weren’t even aware of Maria going to open the front door to let the visitor in. The first they knew of his arrival was when he said, “Well, this is cozy.”
Recognizing the voice instantly, Claudia swung around, her heart already pounding as the blood drained from her flushed cheeks. “Marcus,” she said faintly.
She’d known he was out of prison, and had struggled with the terror of him turning up here—and now here he was, all five foot eleven of him, with his boyish blond hair, large handsome face, and expensive clothes.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, his smile managing to exude both disdain and charm in the way she remembered so well. “I can’t believe you’re surprised to see me. You surely must have known I’d come.”
“Wh-what do you want?” she demanded, almost faint with remembered fear, with terror of what he might do now.
As Dan turned off the radio, Marcus regarded him with a baffled sort of condescension. “And who’s this?” he asked, as if Dan were unable to speak for himself. Then, “Oh, yes, the restorative justice chap we’ve been seeing on the news.” His smile crooked knowingly. “And here you are, cooking up something with my wife. We haven’t heard about that in the press.”
“What do you want?” Dan asked calmly.
Appearing astonished at the repeated question, then pleased, Marcus said, “Why don’t we sit down?” And without waiting for an answer he unbuttoned his coat and pulled out one of the dining chairs to make himself comfortable. “Nice place,” he commented, looking around. “I heard about the fire. Shame that. No sign of it now though.”
Swallowing dryly as all her worst nightmares crowded in on her, Claudia said, “Why are you here?”
He frowned as if considering his reply, and planting his elbows on the table, he said, “You might be thinking that I’ve come to collect what’s mine.” His eyebrows arched invitingly, as though expecting her to spell it out for him. When she didn’t, he said, “It was a lot of money, Rebecca. Oh sorry, I’m forgetting, it’s Claudia now, isn’t it?”
“It’s not even a fraction of what you took from me,” she reminded him, making herself sound stronger than she felt.
Dan said quietly, “Don’t engage with him, just let him state his case.”
Marcus laughed. “Good advice, Mr. Mediator. I’m not sure what she’s told you about me, but we were very much in love, you know, and I have to say nothing’s changed for me . . .”
“Marcus, stop it,” she muttered.
“Sorry,” he lamented. “I guess there are things you’d rather he didn’t know. It’s OK, I understand that, but—”
“Just come to the point of why you’re here,” Dan interrupted.
Marcus nodded, and seeing the old arrogance and self-confidence as assured as it had ever been, Claudia felt herself shrinking inside. Clearly prison hadn’t changed him, he still had that same sense of entitlement, as if he were some superior being whose right to exist excelled any other.
“OK, I’ll come clean,” he said cheerily. “I want you to stop all the nonsense you’re peddling around about me being behind the arson attack on this place.”
Claudia’s eyes widened slightly, but he put up a hand to let her know he hadn’t finished.
“I get that it’s only rumor at the moment, no one’s actually gone to print with my name—I’d sue if they did—but the nonsense on social media is bringing me the kind of attention I’d rather not have as I try to get my life back on track.”
“But you were behind it,” she stated coldly.
He shook his head. “I know you’re telling yourself that, but that’s just your paranoia at work, and we both know how damaging that can be, don’t we? We have a lot of experience of it, and if you remember it’s usually yourself you end up hurting. But now it’s affecting me. So, as it’s a complete fabrication . . .”
“It’s true,” she snapped.
“. . . and because I can see you’ve made yourself a new life here, I am prepared to disappear for good, even divorce you if that’s what you want, in exchange for a cessation—or denial—of these malicious claims that are extremely annoying and unjustly blackening my name.”
Claudia almost laughed; as if he hadn’t done that all on his own.
Dan said, “She doesn’t need to give you anything in order to get a divorce.”
“And we know you ordered the fire,” Claudia added. She connected with Dan’s presence at last, realizing that she didn’t need to be so afraid. “For all I know, there were a dozen or more people in the chain before it got to the boy who carried it out, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it originated with you.”
He appeared to find this amusing. “You credit me with far more influence than I have,” he informed her, “but even if you were right—and you’re not—you must know by now that you’re never going to make a connection between me and that . . . boy. So, let’s put all this behind us, shall we? You give me your word that there’ll be no more attempts to tie me to your misfortune, and I will divorce you. In fact, I’ll go one better than that, I’ll even find it in my heart to forgive you for abandoning me in my time of need and never coming to visit me in prison.” He looked at Dan. “How does that sound, Mr. Mediator?”
Before Dan could answer, the French doors opened and a chattering Marcy came in, banging her gloved hands together to ward off the cold and stomping her feet. “I think we could plant it up . . .” She broke off, seeming to sense something was wrong and as she saw who was at the table she paled with horror.
Marcus wrinkled his nose, looking from Marcy to Maria, who was hovering nearby, and back again. “Is this some kind of convention?” he asked in cruel amazement.
“Who let him in?” Marcy spat as Claudia fought the urge to stab him.
Before anyone could answer, Henry came in behind Marcy, followed by Archie.
Clearly realizing there was a problem Henry looked from Marcus to Dan and back again. “Are you who I think you are?” he asked carefully.
Marcus didn’t answer. He was looking past Henry, with an expression of disbelief on his face. “Well, well,” he declared smoothly, “I didn’t expect to find you here, Archie boy.”
Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized his mistake, and picking up on it, Claudia said, “So you two have met before?”
Archie’s scowl was thunderous. “Yeah, we’ve met,” he confirmed, “he’s one of the PCs I used to deliver to.”
“Which does not,” Marcus informed the room, “in any way connect me to what he did here.”
Dan said, “Given that you’ve just demonstrated, in front of witnesses, that you know Archie, I think much of your bargaining power has just evaporated. So I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Marcus, white-faced with fury at his own stupidity, was already on his feet.
“Don’t come here again,” Dan told him, directing him to the door, “and don’t try to make any other kind of contact with Claudia, her mother, Jasmine, or Archie.”
“The fact I might know that boy,” Marcus growled, “means nothing. I’ve never spoken to him or approached him in any way about anything to do with this place. If he says I did, he’s lying.”
“Is he?”
Dan said. “Maybe we should put that to the police?”
Marcus glared at Archie. “I’ll give it six months and the scum will rise back to the surface.”
“Get out,” Marcy shouted furiously. “Get out now.”
Marcus walked to the door, tore it open and stalked outside. He didn’t bother closing it, nor did he see Maria come out behind him, he only felt the clunk on the back of his head as it was struck by the can of furniture polish she hurled at him.
“An’ don’ come back,” she shouted after him, and slamming the door she muttered, “effin’ co’venshun,” and even Marcy had to laugh.
ONCE SURE HE’D gone, Dan turned from the window and looked at Claudia. “Are you OK?” he asked.
She nodded, although she could feel herself shaking again, and didn’t object when Henry encouraged her to sit down. “I can’t believe he had the nerve to come here . . . What am I saying, of course he did, it’s completely typical of him to think he can go anywhere at any time and intimidate people into doing exactly as he wants.”
“Well, it didn’t happen this time,” Dan pointed out, “and it never will. Not here.”
“What are you doing?” Claudia asked as he took out his phone.
Marcy said, “I hope he’s about to inform DCI Gould of what’s just happened?”
Dan nodded. “Most particularly about the admission, in front of witnesses, two of whom happen to be lawyers, to knowing Archie. I can just imagine how he’s feeling about that now. It still doesn’t tie him to the arson, but we’ll let the police worry about that. All we need to concern ourselves with is making sure that an investigation gets underway—and that he doesn’t come here again. Unless,” he said before pressing dial, “we want to let him sweat it out, not knowing what we’ll do, or when, which could end up saving you, Marcy, actually all of you, any more time in court.”
Marcy didn’t hesitate. “Let him suffer,” she declared, “but if he does come near us, even with an email, you need to make that call and then let him know that you’ve made it.”
Dan looked at Claudia. “Are you OK with that?” he asked.
“I think so,” she replied. “Actually, yes I am.” She looked at Archie, and felt a wavering sort of beat in her heart.
As he met her eyes he said, “I’m cool to play it however you want,” and she realized from those few words that he knew exactly how she felt, understood her misgivings and was willing to do whatever it might take to win her trust.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“I have a proposal to put to you,” Marcy said, coming into Claudia’s craft room and perching on one of the high stools next to the table.
Intrigued, Claudia abandoned the sketch she was halfway through and went to turn off her audiobook.
“First of all,” Marcy said, “have you heard anything back from Marcus’s lawyer since you filed for divorce?”
“No, I’d have told you if I had, but I’m not worried, honestly. It’s still early days and it’ll happen.”
“Of course it will, I’m just asking. Anyway, it doesn’t really affect what I’m about to suggest, and it’s just some thoughts I’ve been having. I haven’t even mentioned anything to Henry yet, and a lot of it will depend on him.”
Trying to imagine what was coming, Claudia settled herself on another stool and waited for her mother to continue.
“What I’ve been thinking,” Marcy said, rubbing her scarred hand as she often did unconsciously, “is that a time might be coming when I will want to move in with Henry, and if I did I wondered if you’d like Dan to buy out my share of this place?”
Claudia’s eyes widened with surprise. She hadn’t seen that coming, although perhaps she should have, certainly where her mother and Henry were concerned.
“Is it a good idea?” Marcy prompted.
Claudia said, cautiously, “I guess so, provided he wants to, but I don’t think I can ask him.”
“It’s OK, I’m just putting it to you as a possible that we both might like to consider.”
Unable to deny that it was something she was glad to think about, Claudia said, “Do you have any kind of time frame in mind?”
“No, not really, but with Jasmine off to uni next September I thought now would be a good time to start planning ahead.”
That was just over nine months away, and Claudia was getting the impression that her mother would like these changes to happen sooner. “So, will you ask Henry?” she asked. “Or will you wait for him to ask you?”
“I’m not sure. What do you think I should do?”
Claudia pondered it.
“Actually, I think we ought to talk to Dan first, because if he doesn’t want to buy into this place with you I won’t want to leave you here on your own,” Marcy declared.
“That’s just silly,” Claudia scolded, smarting at the fear of Dan turning her down. “If it comes to it and you’re ready to move in with Henry, I’ll use the money I took from Marcus—my money—to buy you out.”
“But it would be better if Dan was here. Maybe you could talk it over with him, tell him I’ll give him an excellent price . . .”
“Mum, I can’t just . . .”
“Listen, I’ve seen you two together, so if you want my opinion he’s not suggesting this himself because he wouldn’t want me to think he’s trying to crowd the nest, or push me out.”
Accepting there was a chance that might be true, Claudia said, “OK, for the record, between us, I think it’s a great idea, especially as you’ll only be one thousand seven hundred and eight steps away if you do go.”
Coming to hug her, Marcy said, “Talk to him and let me know what he says.”
DAN BLINKED, ALMOST as though he might not have heard correctly. “Would you like to run that past me again?” he prompted.
Trying not to be annoyed that she was having to ask twice when once had already been awkward enough, Claudia was about to begin again when she caught the tease in his eyes and slanted him a menacing look.
“Come here,” he said softly.
Going to him, she raised her face to his as he circled her in his arms. “Even if your mother asked for double the going rate,” he said against her lips, “I’d want to do it.”
Melting against him she gave herself to the deepening tenderness of his kiss, until it became the sort of kiss that wasn’t going to allow them to stop there.
Because no one else was at home, they didn’t.
An hour or so later, as they lay together on the bed that was now destined to become theirs, she said, “You know, I was thinking, if you do move in . . .”
“When,” he corrected.
“When”—she smiled—“We could reconfigure things so that Mum’s sitting room becomes your study, and maybe we could add a sunroom to the kitchen and build the deck out from there. That way we’d have a place for you to read and me to embroider while we listen to music, or just watch nature . . . Did I ever mention that I wouldn’t mind building a small studio out there for a kiln?”
Rolling over to face her, he turned her to him and said, “Yes to everything, and now how about this? We could make one of the rooms into a nursery and see what we can do about filling it?”
“HERE WE ARE, two gin and tonics,” Marcy declared, sitting down beside Henry on the comfy conservatory seat that overlooked his garden, the rooftops that staggered down to the sea, and the golden sunset a long way out on the horizon. “I’ve made yours extra strong because you might need it when I tell you what I have in mind.”
Blithely he said, “Whatever it is, if it involves you I’m up for it. Oh, unless it’s having to sing at this blasted karaoke night. I thought that went out in the eighties—and it was cheesy then.”
Leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, she replied, “It’s only you who’s calling it karaoke, the rest of us are referring to it as a music event. Anyway, what’s wrong with cheesy?”
He eyed her skeptically.
With a laugh, she said, “Jasmine has probably got something
new she wants to play for us, and by the sound of it there’ll be an entire orchestral backing. Should be wonderful.”
“I won’t disagree with that.”
She sat quietly, thoughtfully, for a moment. “If we are expected to perform, and no one’s said yet that we are, maybe we can do a duet. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’?”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he responded dryly.
Laughing, she kissed him again and said, “No, it’s not about the party that I want to talk to you, it’s about whether or not you feel you could wake up to this awful face of mine every morning.”
There was a moment before he seemed to catch on to what she might be suggesting. “Am I? Are you?”
She nodded.
Putting down his drink, he took her face in his hands and planted a loving kiss on the tragically scarred cheek. “I hope that’s a good enough answer,” he told her gruffly, “but if it isn’t I can take off all your clothes and kiss every other part of you as well—and if that still doesn’t convince you I’ll just do it all over again.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
It was just after six in the evening, with the sound of a brass band playing “Good King Wenceslas” drifting up from the street below, and the red glow of a brazier reflected in the window, as Dan prepared to leave his office. Everyone else had gone home, and he was in a hurry to get to the coach house to help with preparations for the early Christmas party. However, just as he was about to turn out the lights there was a knock on his door and to his surprise Archie came in, his face red from the cold, and his dark hair appearing even more mussed than usual as he tugged down his hood.
“Hello, son,” Dan said warmly. “Wasn’t I supposed to come and pick you guys up? Is your mum with you?”
“No, she’s at home,” Archie told him, not quite meeting his eyes. “I came because there’s something I need to tell you.”
Realizing it was something serious, Dan said, “OK. Shall we sit down?”
Archie nodded, but when Dan returned to his chair he remained standing.
