by Tricia Jones
They turned a corner, and she stopped dead. “You’re wasting your time. There’s nothing here for you now, Saul. Do whatever you need to do, but just keep away from me.”
“This is yours.” He handed her the package.
She looked down at it, then began walking again. “I don’t want it. Put it in the nearest trashcan, or set fire to it, I don’t care.”
“Mia…”
“And write what you want,” she grated. “I don’t care about that either. You’ve got your story now. Not only can you bring down Colcannon, but you’ll have a nice juicy personal story about him and his wife to fill your sleazy pages.”
“You think I care about that?”
“It’ll be your passport back to where you want to go. An expose on a high-ranking British politician set to lead the country, complete with his wayward wife, an eminent doctor, the unsuspecting idiot daughter. God, they might even give you an award.”
He swung her around with such force she tumbled against his chest. “I get that you’re mad, I get that you’re so damn hurt you can’t think straight. But don’t shut me out, and don’t make me out to be some bastard who uses other people’s misery to grab a headline.”
“You’re a reporter.” Mia pushed herself out of his hold. “It’s what you people do. You don’t have scruples, you just want a story.”
He bit down on his lower lip, glaring back at her. His jaw looked so tight she wondered that it might snap in two at any moment. “You’re in shock and you’re hurting, so I’ll let you have that one.”
“You think I care about anything you say or do? You’ve lied to me for the last time. Why don’t you just crawl back into your seedy little reporter hole and leave me the hell alone. Just go.”
He rose to his full height. “If that’s what you want.”
She didn’t reply. There was nothing left to say. Instead, she broke into a half-run, her only thought to get to the university. To her sanctuary. At least there were no lies to be had there. No deception. She could lose herself in her work, her books, her research.
She thought of the government adviser post she had been so excited about. It paled into nothingness now.
Her brisk pace brought her to the university in a little over an hour and she hurried along the now silent corridors heading to her office. Inside, she locked the outer door of Lily’s office and leaned back against it.
Saul would no doubt print the whole sorry story. Why wouldn’t he? It was a gift from the gods and would soon have him back behind enemy lines where he most wanted to be.
Alone, she gave her feelings reign and simply slid down the door toward the floor where she drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself. And wept.
Chapter Nineteen
It had been almost ten days since Mia discovered the truth about her past. The pain in her chest had subsided a little, giving way to a kind of grim acceptance. But the ache in her heart for Saul hadn’t even begun to abate. She missed him almost every moment. The nights were the worst when she lay in bed in Malcolm Tooby’s spare room where she’d been since the day she learned the truth of who she was. When she’d called Malcolm and asked to stay for a while, he hadn’t asked why. It was indeed a gift to have such a friend. He’d told her to stay as long as she needed.
It helped being away from the familiar, which seemed strange considering she was such a creature of habit. It helped that after the first three days, Saul hadn’t phoned and had stopped texting. Obviously he’d accepted they were finished. Her father continued to call every day and she curtly assured him she was fine and staying at Malcolm’s until she could arrange for something more permanent.
She’d met her Aunt Sylvia a few times at a café, enduring her aunt’s continued attempts at persuading her to make things right with her father. Seeing the past from her aunt’s perspective had clarified some of the questions that refused to go away. Things like why didn’t her father try harder to persuade her mother to stay with him and leave Colcannon; why didn’t her mother ever try and see Mia in the intervening years?
Why. Why. Why.
Slowly Mia accepted that her father had tried everything. That he’d even tried to persuade her mother to see Mia in secret. Sylvia had reasoned that her mother was young, a little unbalanced. She told Mia that Colcannon could have made things extremely difficult for her father, and her mother likely knew he could use his influence to make sure every door Armstrong knocked on would be closed to him. In effect, the politician had the clout to destroy her father’s career, and in so doing would jeopardize Mia’s future, too.
It had been hard to hear, but Mia appreciated the honesty with which her aunt let her know what she needed to know. She also began to see things from both her father and mother’s viewpoint, wondering what she might have done under the same circumstances.
Would she have stayed with her child at all costs? Endangered the future of the man she loved? The future of her child?
Despite all her thoughts on the matter, Mia still couldn’t reconcile abandoning her child for any risk involved, but then she, thank God, was of sound mind and coming from a solid, secure background made possible by a father who loved her beyond anything.
Her heart pinched as she thought of him. At how sad he sounded each time he called. But she pushed it away. She wasn’t yet ready to be reasonable and understanding. It was all still too raw.
Since she’d scheduled the morning off to mark assignments, she poured another coffee and picked up the newspaper. Slipping into Malcolm’s small breakfast nook, she smiled at the note he’d left propped by the sugar bowl telling her to make sure to eat and not ply herself with too much coffee.
He’d been an absolute treasure, and had never once made her feel anything but welcome.
Anticipating the truth coming out, she’d told him about her past and that she wanted some space and time away from her father. She never mentioned Saul. Perhaps if she never spoke of him, it would be easier to let him go from her life, from her heart.
Sipping coffee, she opened the newspaper. The initial jolt of recognition that it was Saul’s paper faded beneath the weight of the bold black headline.
Colcannon scandal.
Her heart stopped, then beat with a ferocity that stole her breath. Mia squeezed her eyes shut, battling down the sudden nausea. This was it. Spread across the front pages for the world to see: her life, her father’s life, ready to be dissected, analyzed and pitied over countless breakfast tables.
Willing the sickness to settle, Mia took a breath and opened her eyes. She skimmed through the first paragraph her eyes honed for mention of her mother, her father. Then the second paragraph, the third…
Her heart thumped so wildly it pumped circulation to her cheeks until her whole face burned and her hands shook.
Going back to the beginning of the article, she scanned it again. Nothing. All that the article mentioned was Colcannon’s involvement in a misappropriation of funds and possible call-girl link. She went back yet again, this time reading every word in case large sections of it had escaped her fevered brain.
She flipped through the remainder of the paper, skimming each page in case a secondary article mentioned what she’d expected to see.
Nothing.
Inhaling a steadying breath, Mia let it out slowly, deliberately. Relief took a slow ride through her system, warming the places that had remained chilled for so many days. Why hadn’t he written everything he knew about Colcannon? Why had he left out the more personal details involving her family which would have given the article even more weight, more bite?
The newspaper fluttered to the floor as she pushed out of the breakfast nook. Retrieving it, she took one more look before folding the paper and placing it on the table.
An hour later she hurried up the steps of her home, her fingers fumbling with the keys. Inside she called for her father, for her aunt, but received no reply.
She dumped her bag on the kitchen table and fished out her phone.
The number rang three times before her father answered. “Dad, where are you?”
“At the library. What’s wrong?”
“Have you seen the newspaper this morning? About Colcannon?”
His flat tone echoed through the line. “Yes.”
“Saul didn’t mention anything. About us, I mean.”
“Did you expect he would?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She blew out a breath, trying to calm her anxious heart. “Last time I saw him I told him to print what he liked. That I didn’t care. I sort of called him a lying cheat.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
Mia hesitated, unsure why her father sounded quite so perplexed. “Because despite assuring me that he wouldn’t, he continued to keep things from me. He took it on himself not to tell me about your meeting with that solicitor.”
“He wanted to tell you, but I asked him not to.” Her father’s tone was more effective than a verbal tut-tut. “He respected my wishes.”
Which, it seemed, was more than he did for hers. “What were they? Your wishes.”
“I didn’t want you to know about the notes your mother was sending. I wanted to keep the remaining notes from you. Mr. O’Donnell agreed to my request that you not know about the meeting, but categorically refused to deny you the opportunity to receive the package. He didn’t know about your mother. I can’t say if he would still have wanted you to have the remaining notes and gifts had he known they were from her.”
Mia took a moment to let the information sink in. “Saul didn’t tell me you asked him not to mention the meeting. Even when I accused him of lying about it, he didn’t say.”
“He wanted to protect you, darling. Why else would he be so determined that the full story never comes to light?”
Myriad emotions bubbled inside her and Mia closed her eyes. Saul had buried the full story in order to protect her. To spare her further hurt.
Why else would he have relinquished the chance to fully expose a morally bankrupt politician, with a wife who elected to abandon the child of a clandestine affair in favor of the status her husband’s career could offer? Potentially great fodder for the media, and yet it seemed Saul had chosen to exclude the meatier aspects of the story to protect her.
How could she have been so awful to him? She knew he wasn’t the kind of reporter she’d accused him of being. Even as the words left her mouth, she’d known she was being cruel.
She opened her eyes, gripping the phone to steady herself as her system buzzed. “Dad, I have to go. But I want to move back home tonight. Is that okay?”
Armstrong was silent for a moment, and when he spoke his voice wasn’t quite steady. “It’s your home. Always has been, always will be.”
Tears that wouldn’t be stemmed, trailed down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry I blamed you and—”
“There’s no need for any of that now. Just come home, darling. I’ll be waiting.”
Mia pressed the button to end the call and popped her phone back in her bag. She swiped her hands across her wet cheeks and hurried from the house to hail a taxi.
She resisted the urge to tell the driver to put his foot down as the taxi trundled through annoyingly slow traffic, instead making herself sit back and focus on trying to calm her thumping heart.
She wanted to weep for her own stupidity, for her insistence that she be given the courtesy of knowing everything that affected her. Being sheltered from the truth was sometimes necessary when people wanted to protect those who mattered to them. Her father had protected her all her life, even as his own heart broke with the pain of the past. He’d done that because he loved her and wanted her to be happy.
Saul had protected her, too. His story about Colcannon could have been even more ruinous to the politician, and perhaps gained Saul an even bigger pat on the back, with the addition of the personal details he had preferred not to include. While she knew it wasn’t his style of reporting, that he didn’t sink to the tabloid sensationalism she’d accused him of, she couldn’t shake the realization that his primary reason for the omission was to protect her.
Joy wanted to burst from her chest, but it was too soon to abandon her fears. There was the chance he wouldn’t forgive her. The chance she blew it by accusing him of being a lying cheat.
God. She couldn’t bear to think of how her cruel, and unwarranted, accusation must have hit him. He was a decent man, driven by integrity and honesty, and yet right from the start she’d thrown insults at him—both personally and about his profession.
When the taxi pulled up outside Saul’s apartment, she all but threw a twenty-pound note at the cabbie with an instruction for him to keep the change.
Racing up the stairs, she refused to consider the possibility that he’d shut the door in her face. She’d simply stand outside and keep knocking until he let her in. Panting, she swallowed a few times, made herself relax her shoulders, then raised her hand to knock.
She hadn’t heard from him for almost two weeks, so it was entirely possible that he’d gone home. The story he came here to cover had been told. There was no reason for him to remain in London.
The sinking feeling threatened the stability of her knees, but before she could continue with the what-ifs she thumped the door. Standing back, holding her breath, she waited.
Nothing.
She thumped again, and almost fell back on unsteady legs as the door burst open.
Unshaven, his hair unkempt, Saul’s weary dark eyes burned back at her. His shirt was unbuttoned, jeans unclasped at the waist. For one terrifying moment, Mia feared he might not be alone. Lightheaded, she felt the walls close in. Oh God. She hadn’t factored that into her what-ifs.
For long moments they stood staring at each other, until Mia realized she needed to find her voice. “Can I come in?”
He stepped back, throwing the door wide open. Mia stepped inside, scanning the room for evidence of female company, then letting her gaze journey to the bedroom. The door was ajar, but she couldn’t see that far into the room.
Pushing the possibility he wasn’t alone from her immediate thoughts, she turned to Saul. “I wanted to thank you for not mentioning my family’s personal life in your exposé of Colcannon.”
Having closed the door, Saul walked back into the room, buttoning his shirt. “You’re welcome,” he said stiffly, moving past her toward the kitchen.
Mia followed him. Saul poured coffee and held out the cup, motioning to her.
Since her system was buzzing enough without added caffeine, she shook her head. “Colcannon has stepped down,” she said as if he didn’t know. “There’s talk of criminal charges.”
He sipped his coffee. “As there should be.”
Absently, she ran her hand along the worktop. “When did you get proof of the misappropriation of funds?”
“Couple of days ago. Slipped into my lap like a gift from the gods.”
He didn’t seem particularly happy about it. “And the call girl link?”
“One thing led to another.” Cocking a hip against the worktop, he gave her a steely glare. “Despite the opinions of some, I’m good at what I do.”
She accepted the barb with a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. For what I said.”
“About me having no scruples, or that I should just crawl back into my seedy little reporter hole?”
She winced, mortified that he’d remembered word for word her cruel and unfounded accusations. Perhaps she should have realized that despite his easy-going nature, her insults would hit low. That despite his having appeared to shrug them off and view them as spur of the moment jibes, they’d hurt him at the deepest level of his integrity and honor. Shame on her that she’d aimed them at him in the hope they would take the focus off her own shortcomings.
“I’m sorry for both of those remarks, and a whole lot of others.”
He shrugged in that way of his. “Yeah, well. Water under the bridge.”
Mia spotted two upturned mugs on the draining boar
d. “Are you alone?”
Saul followed the direction of her gaze and, seconds later, his eyes bored sharp and perilous into hers. “Right. I can’t make it through the night without a woman, is that it? Not only am I a seedy reporter with no scruples, I can’t keep my pants zipped for five damn minutes.”
“No.” Tread carefully, Mia thought; you owe him that. “That’s not what I meant. I simply asked if you’re here alone. There are some things I want to say, and I’d prefer not to have an audience.”
He sipped again, watching her over the rim of his cup. “There’s nobody else here.”
She was too wound up to celebrate anything by way of relief at his words. “I wasn’t thinking straight the last time we spoke. Which is one of the reasons I wanted to come and apologize.”
“You’d had the stuffing knocked out of you. Anyone wouldn’t be thinking straight.”
“Perhaps, but I said things I didn’t mean. You didn’t deserve them.”
“Didn’t I?”
She faced him squarely. “No. You didn’t.”
He narrowed those stormy eyes. “What if I told you that we’re waiting for the dust to settle before springing this additional information on an unsuspecting public?”
Mia raised her chin, more certain about her response than she’d ever been about anything else in her life. She knew bone deep that Saul wouldn’t be prepared to prosper from the misery of innocents. That he wouldn’t be prepared to prosper from hers. “I wouldn’t believe you.”
He merely looked at her, then pushed away from the counter and walked through to the sitting room. Tentatively, Mia followed, coming to stand in front of him when he sat and leaned back against the sofa, cradling his coffee.
She tapped her fingertips together. “I spoke to my father today.”
He gave a slow nod. “He’s been worried about you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been in touch with him?”
