“So,” I said, a few minutes later. We were walking down a country lane. On either side of us were perfect little cottages with lovely thatched roofs and people outside who wouldn’t have looked at all out of place in an episode of Marple.
“So,” Lawrence parroted, looking around. “It’s nice here, huh? Nice little arrangement you’ve got.”
“Arrangement?” I frowned.
“House. Area. You know,” he said.
“Oh, I see. Well, yes,” I said, “although I’m not sure I’m using it as Grace intended.”
“Grace?” he asked.
“A friend of mine. The one who left me the house.”
“Ah. Her.” Lawrence nodded. “Why? What did she want you to do with it?”
“Live in it,” I said with a half smile.
“And you don’t because …?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Because of work,” I said. “It’s too far a commute into London.”
“It’s not such a long way,” Lawrence said. “What, an hour by car?”
“In good traffic.”
“So leave early.”
“It’s not that easy,” I sighed.
There was a bench by the side of the road, and Lawrence walked toward it. “You mind sitting?” he asked. “Not that I don’t love walking, but it’s quite a view here, don’t you think?”
I looked around—he was right. The bench was on a rise, and the road led downhill from there. In the distance was the river, which met the thunderous clouds seamlessly—it looked like a Turner painting. “Sure,” I said, sitting down next to him.
“Why isn’t it that easy?” he asked. “Why on earth would you choose to live in London when you can live here?”
“Oh, lots of reasons,” I answered quickly. “I mean, it’s too big for only Max and me. And the commute, like I said. And …” I frowned. There were other reasons; I just couldn’t remember them. I tried to hear Max’s voice, remember what he always said. “Being in London is important if you’re in advertising. And Max works long hours, so …”
“So he doesn’t want to move?” Lawrence asked gently.
“He does want to,” I said. “But … not now.”
“He’s given you a time scale?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe when you have children?”
“Maybe,” I said quietly.
“And that’ll be when, do you think? You’ve been married, what, a year, your mother said?”
“Yeah, about a year. And we’ll have children, you know, when things settle down a bit. I mean, the recession doesn’t help.”
Lawrence laughed. “I’m sure it doesn’t. But if everyone thought like that, no one would have had children in the whole of the 1970s. Or during the Great Depression. Most of the world wouldn’t have them at all.”
“Yes, well, we’ll get round to it. Eventually. Maybe,” I said, feeling less and less confident the more I spoke.
“Maybe?” he asked.
I sighed heavily. “We had a fight. Max and I,” I said. “So right now everything’s kind of in the balance, you know?”
He laughed again. “Oh, I know. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s fights.”
I frowned. “You fought with your wife? A lot?”
“Of course,” he said. “Everyone does. She’d pick fights with me, I’d pick fights with her, we’d bicker and complain and then forget all about it for a while. It’s called marriage.”
“Really?” I asked uncertainly. “That’s normal?”
“That’s good,” Lawrence said wryly, putting his arm around me. “It’s when you can’t forget that you know things are bad.”
“Huh,” I said thoughtfully.
“Huh,” he agreed.
“So you’re really my father,” I said, turning to look at him.
“I really am,” he said with a little shrug. “You know, you turned out well. Considering that your grandmother brought you up. She was some witch.”
I grinned. “She wasn’t so bad. She meant well.”
“If you say so.”
We sat in silence for a while, watching the purple and gray clouds gather. And then I heard something, something that sounded remarkably like Chester’s and Helen’s voices coming down the road toward us. They mustn’t see us, I thought frantically. We had to move. With my heartbeat thudding in my head, I grabbed my father’s hand. “You know what? I think we should walk again.”
“You do?” he asked uncertainly. “But it’s nice here, just sitting.”
“It’ll be nicer walking,” I insisted, pulling him up. “This way.” I started to drag him away from the bench, down toward the river.
“It’s starting to rain,” he complained. “Let’s go back to the house, have a nice cup of tea.”
“But you haven’t seen the river close-up,” I said, urging him to walk more quickly.
I could still hear Chester and Helen behind us; they were headed the same way we were. If we headed the other way we’d pass them. That was unthinkable—Chester would want to know who I was with. The only thing keeping us hidden was the steep incline of the road; once it flattened out, we’d be clearly visible in front of them. I looked around frantically for a path, anything that would take us off the lane. And then I stopped still, because the loud sound I now heard reminded me a great deal of something I very much hoped it wasn’t. I turned around to look up the hill; sure enough, in the background I could see a large black car headed our way.
It was a Hummer.
Gulping, I grabbed Lawrence’s hand. “You know what?” I asked frantically. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should go back to the house.”
“Okay, but isn’t it that way?” he asked, frowning as I pulled him toward a hedgerow. “Jess, I don’t think there’s any way through that … Oh … Oh, okay, I see you’re going to make a way. You know this coat I’m wearing was quite expensive, Jess….”
I barely listened as I forced my way through the brambles into what turned out to be a field. All I knew was that we had to get back to the house. The Russians had found me, and I needed somewhere to hide.
“Jess! Lawrence!” Mum had a smile fixed on her face when she opened the door twenty minutes later. “You’re back!”
“Yes,” I said, pushing past her. “We need to get inside.”
“Rain,” Lawrence explained.
“Rain. Right,” I said, hurriedly closing the door behind him. Mum still had the frozen smile on her face; behind her, Giles was motioning frantically toward the sitting room.
“Chester,” he mouthed. “In there.”
I gulped, then turned to my father. “Okay,” I said brightly, “let’s have that tea. In the kitchen. Right now.”
“Sure,” he said easily. “Let me just take off my coat and shoes. They’re wet through from all the—”
“No need!” Mum trilled. “And you’ll need your coat in the kitchen. No central heating. In fact, I might put my coat on now. You should, too, Jess.”
“Absolutely,” I said weakly. “Come on, Dad. I’ll race you there.”
He stopped and smiled. “You just said ‘Dad.’”
I stopped, too. “You’re right,” I said, biting my lip. “I did.”
“I liked it.” He smiled, putting his hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
“I did, too,” I agreed.
“You’ll like it even more in the kitchen,” Mum said forcefully; immediately, I snapped to and nodded, pulling Dad down the corridor and sitting down at the table with a sigh.
“Phew,” I said.
“Phew?” Dad asked, uncertain.
Our eyes met. “Brew. I said brew. As in let’s brew a cup of tea,” I managed to say. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
I got up and rushed to the counter, nearly falling over in the process. “What the—” I looked down to see Ivana’s trunk on the floor.
At that moment, Giles’s head appeared around the door. “You’re probably wondering about the trunk,” he
said.
I nodded frantically and he ran toward me. “Your mother couldn’t find the key to the cellar,” he whispered worriedly. “So we thought it would be safe in here.”
“Safe?” I hissed. “I just saw the Hummer on the road. That’s why we’re back so early. The Russian Mafia Hummer, Giles. The trunk isn’t safe here, and we’re not safe with it here, either.”
“The Hummer?” Giles’s eyes widened with fear. “They followed you here?”
I nodded uncomfortably. “We have to move it,” I said decisively.
“But how? Chester’s in the sitting room.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds. And then the doorbell rang.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
“Oh dear,” Giles whispered back. He was trembling. We both were.
“Go and see who it is,” I said anxiously. “Don’t let anyone open the door.”
“Right you are.” Giles nodded, took a deep breath, said what looked like a prayer, and dashed out of the room.
“He all right?” Dad asked curiously. “What were you two whispering about?”
“Um … girl trouble. I mean … boy trouble,” I said, my voice faltering slightly. “Nothing important.”
“If you say so.” Dad shrugged.
Giles reappeared, a strange look on his face. I beckoned him into the room. “So?” I whispered. “Was it them?”
He shook his head.
“Then who was it? What’s the matter?”
He looked like he really needed to pee. Or had just been stung by some nettles in a very personal place.
“It’s … It’s …” he stammered.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” I said impatiently, marching out of the room. “I’ll look for myself.” I strode up to the door and looked through the peephole. And then it was my turn to pull a face. Incredulously, I opened the door and the visitor stepped inside.
“Hugh Barter,” I said in utter disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 19
“I GOT YOUR MESSAGE,” Hugh said, gazing around the hallway in wonder. “This is really your house?”
I nodded curtly. “What, going to try to get that, too?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
“What? No. No, I just … It’s amazing. It’s huge! And was that … I mean, did I see your friend Giles? Is he here?”
“Yes, he is, not that it’s any of your business. Now tell me what you want and then go. I’m very busy,” I said.
“Who’s that?” I heard Chester’s voice from the sitting room. “Was that someone at the door?”
Mum poked her head round the door, saw Hugh, and turned her gaze on me worriedly. “What is … he doing here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m trying to find out.”
“What’s who doing here?” Chester asked. I shook my head at Mum, mouthed at her to keep Chester occupied, then dragged Hugh toward the kitchen.
“No one,” I called back to him. “Just a … delivery.”
“A what?” Hugh asked uncertainly. “Was that Chester Rydall?”
“None of your business. Now … come in here.” I took him into the pantry, for no other reason than it seemed to be the only free room.
Hugh spun around. “This is bigger than my kitchen,” he breathed. “It’s enormous. And it’s just for storage.”
I looked around the shelves and shrugged. “Yes, it is. Now tell me what you’re doing here. I thought I made it perfectly clear in my message that I’m not being blackmailed anymore. You can do what you want and say what you want to whomever you want. You’re not getting any more money out of me.”
“But that’s the thing. I haven’t blackmailed you,” Hugh said, a pained expression on his face.
I laughed drily. “Do you prefer the term ‘extortion’?”
“No!” Hugh said, shaking his head. “Look, I needed some money. I ran out. And I don’t know anyone else with any spare cash.”
“So you threatened to tell Max about us in return for a handout. Yes, I can totally see how that isn’t blackmail,” I said sarcastically.
Hugh looked uncomfortable. “Okay, I can see how that looked.”
“You can? How nice,” I said with a sigh. “So you’ll understand how much I want you out of my house, then?”
“Yes. Of course. But the thing is, what I mean to say is …” He trailed off, his eyes looking at something behind me. “Who’s that?”
I turned to see my father standing in the open doorway. “Is this him?” he asked.
“Him?”
“The one Giles has just told me all about. Hugh Barter, was it?”
Hugh nodded and held out his hand. “Very nice to meet you,” he said. “And you are …?”
“Jessica’s father,” Dad said, drawing back his arm and, before I could do anything to stop him, punching Hugh right in the nose.
Hugh fell back onto the floor, clutching his face. “Bastard!” he yelped. “What the hell was that for?”
“For treating my daughter like your personal ATM,” Dad said, standing over him, a strange smile on his face. He looked at me with wide eyes. “I haven’t punched anyone since I was at school,” he said excitedly. “I forgot how good it feels. Hurts, though. Look at my hand.”
He showed me his hand, which was shaking slightly.
“Sod your bloody hand,” Hugh said angrily from the floor. “My nose is bleeding.”
It was, too—all over Hugh’s shirt and the floor beneath him. He sat up, looking very sorry for himself.
“Jess?” I heard Chester’s voice approaching and felt my heart stop briefly. “Jess, where are you? I need to talk to you.”
“Who’s that?” Dad asked. “Who’s here?”
“No one. You two stay here,” I ordered. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare make a sound.”
“No one? That wasn’t no one. That was Chester, wasn’t it?”
“You know Chester?” Hugh asked.
“Not exactly,” Dad said. “But I do want to meet him.”
“Not now,” I whispered urgently. “If you want a relationship with me in the future, you will stay here and be quiet. Do you understand? You, too, Hugh.”
Hugh shrugged, Dad nodded, and I quietly stepped outside, closing the door of the pantry behind me.
“Chester!” I exclaimed, as he walked toward me. “How was your walk?”
“Wet,” Chester said grimly. “And bizarre. That friend of yours takes some getting used to, kept talking to me about reality television. She’s on the phone to someone now telling them I’ve agreed to appear on Private Banks Go Head to Head. And I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“That’s Helen,” I said affectionately, leading him away from the pantry and wondering where my mother had got to. “She’s great, isn’t she?”
“I’d prefer to reserve judgment, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Of course. No problem at all. So, what can I do for you?”
“You can tell me what the hell’s going on,” he said, taking my arm. “And don’t try any of your shenanigans. I’m not a fool, Jess. I know when something untoward is happening. And being sent for a walk with that crazy girl, then being shut in the sitting room with Esther and the crazy girl, suggests exactly that. I want you to tell me what is going on.”
“Going on?” I asked, my voice quivering slightly. “I don’t know what you—”
“Yes, you do,” Chester cut in firmly. “What is it? Because if your mom is having second thoughts, I need to know. I won’t be taken for an idiot, Jess.”
“No one thinks you’re an idiot, Chester,” I said weakly. “It’s just that …” I thought frantically, trying to think of something, anything, to say that wouldn’t devastate him and Mum.
“That what, Jess?” Chester asked, bearing down on me. “Tell me now or, damn it, I’m leaving.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “Look, Chester, what you have to understand is—”
The doorbell rang, and I looked up in alarm
.
“Yes?” Chester pressed. “What I have to understand is what?”
“Is …” I stared at the door worriedly. “Is …” I looked at Chester imploringly. “Chester, would you mind seeing who that is? Don’t open the door—just look through the peephole.”
“Look through the peephole?” Chester asked uncertainly, and I nodded.
He sighed wearily and walked over to the door. “It’s a man,” he said.
“A man in black with sunglasses on?” I asked worriedly. “What’s he wearing?”
“A pretty cheap suit, far as I can see.” Chester shrugged. “And there’s a girl with him. Hey, I recognize her. Karen. No, Caroline. Your assistant.”
“Caroline?” I looked at him dubiously. “Are you sure?”
“Hey, she’s your assistant. You take a look,” Chester said impatiently. I ran to the door.
“It is Caroline,” I gasped. “And Eric.”
“Eric? Who the hell’s Eric?”
Giles, Helen, and my mother had all appeared in the hallway with worried expressions on their faces. “Eric?” they asked in unison.
“Eric.” I nodded helplessly. This was the last thing I needed. I’d planned my whole conversation with Chester, the one where I’d tell him that I’d screwed up, that it wasn’t Max’s fault, that if there were any problems with the audit I took full responsibility. Having Eric show up out of the blue was so not part of the plan. “Look, maybe you should all go back to the sitting room,” I said.
“Why?” Chester’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who is this Eric?”
Biting my lip, I said, “Chester, Eric is the auditor, and if he knows you’re here it’ll … well, it’ll confuse client–auditor relations.”
“It will?” Chester asked. “How?”
“Oh, Chester, just do as Jess says and let her get rid of him,” Mum said impatiently, and ushered everyone into the sitting room, leaving me to open the door.
“Jess,” Caroline breathed as she rushed through the door and gave me a hug. “Eric told me about the interview. He’s come to say sorry, haven’t you, Eric?”
She looked at Eric pointedly; hanging his head, he walked in behind her.
An Ideal Wife: A Novel Page 19
