by Jade Winters
She got what she’d come for—no more and no less. That would have to do. For the time being anyway.
Emma pulled her jacket down and flipped her dark locks out from under the collar as she walked briskly towards the lift. Thoughts of Lauren kept her company all the way back to her apartment.
Chapter Twelve
‘Oi, oi, what’s going on between you two then?’ Frankie asked, wiggling his brows.
Lauren looked at Frankie in surprise. ‘Who? Emma? Nothing’s going on. She’s someone I knew at school.’
The sheer coincidence that Emma— ‘her’ Emma Clary—had been the one to report the burglary still perplexed her. The chances were unbelievable. What shocked her more were the intense feelings she still felt for her. How was it possible that she could not see someone for fourteen years and still feel exactly the same about her?
Frankie leant back on the sofa and put his brogues up on the coffee table. Mischief glinted in his eyes. ‘Are you sure? The chemistry in the air suggested otherwise.’
‘Positive,’ Lauren replied, stopping the conversation about Emma dead in its tracks. She didn’t want to discuss her with Frankie; she wanted to savour their meeting for later.
Frankie set his feet down and crossed his ankle over his knee. ‘If you say so. Anyway, sorry to drop by unannounced. I thought you’d come into the gallery today and when you didn’t turn up I was worried.’
Lauren exhaled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get a chance. I had forensics here this morning.’
During her time with Emma, she had managed to push all thoughts of the burglary out of her head. Now Frankie had replanted the reminder at the forefront of her mind.
‘Ah okay. What did the police say?’
‘They knocked on people’s doors but no one saw or heard anything. It’s just a matter of waiting to see what forensics come up with now.’
‘Don’t they have CCTV here? The place looks pretty secure.’
‘No unfortunately not.’
Frankie shook his head. ‘You really should have called me and let me know what was happening. I’ve been trying to get you on the phone all day and it just went straight to voicemail. I had visions of all sorts happening to you.’
‘I know. I really am sorry. If the break-in wasn’t enough to deal with I had to turn my phone off as Fiona kept calling. She even turned up on my doorstep last night.’
‘No! Really? She came all the way from Paris?’
‘Crazy isn’t it? My mum told her about the break-in and she was acting like the concerned girlfriend. I told her where to go.’
Frankie chuckled. ‘So there’s definitely no way you two are getting back together?’
Lauren picked up Emma’s full wine glass and placed her lips over the red lipstick stain. A rush of warmth flooded through her body at the thought of Emma’s lips. ‘Fiona? No way. It’s been months since we broke up. I think she’s only bothering me now because that other woman’s dumped her. Obviously she’d never admit it though. Anyway, I’d know by now if I had any regrets.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Good,’ he said heartily, then coughed. ‘Not good, as such. I just mean I’m glad you’ve made up—’
Lauren waved off his explanation. ‘Don’t worry. I get your drift.’
‘Okay then ... any chance of a coffee since I’m here? At least you’ll have a man to protect you if that burglar tries his luck again.’
She glared at him. ‘That’s what I needed: a reminder that he might come back. Thanks!’
‘You know me. I’ll tell you the truth whether you want to hear it or not.’
‘That’s what friends are for,’ she replied.
Frankie grinned. Lauren gave up; he was incorrigible.
‘So do you fancy something stronger than coffee?’ she asked.
‘Depends on what’s on offer.’
‘Wine or whisky?’
‘If those are the only choices, whisky will have to do.’
He pulled himself to his feet and followed her into the kitchen. Lauren rummaged through the cupboards, looking for a whisky tumbler, while Frankie remained in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
‘So how come you met up with this—What was her name?’
‘Emma?’
‘Yeah, Emma. I thought you were being discreet?’
Finding the glass, she laid it on the counter and poured a generous measure of whisky. ‘I was. It was completely coincidental.’
‘How so?’
Lauren crossed over to the freezer and fished out a couple of ice cubes.
‘Believe it or not, she was the one who called the police yesterday.’
She dropped the ice into the glass and handed it to him.
‘Now I’m really confused. How could she have known?’
Frankie looked at her over the rim of his glass. He wouldn’t let the subject go until she had satisfied his curiosity.
‘She was looking at this apartment through a pair of binoculars.’
‘Your friend’s a peeping Tom? Nice.’
‘Don’t be silly. I think she was being nosey,’ she said and steered him back into the living room. ‘These apartments practically look into one another.’
He sipped his drink and winced. ‘That’s too bad. Whoever broke in could be staking out this block to see when the apartments are empty.’
‘Well one more incident and I’m out of here.’ Lauren jerked her head in the direction of the suitcase.
Frankie must have heard the fear in her voice, because he put down his drink and regarded her seriously. ‘You know the offer to stay at my place is still open.’
‘That’s very sweet, but I need my space. Anyway, there’s no point talking about it before it’s happened. Let’s not tempt fate, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Lauren pulled her hair into a ponytail and tied it with the band around her wrist. ‘Did you speak to the reporter I had the interview with yesterday?’
‘I did indeed,’
‘And?’ Lauren pressed.
‘And …’ He paused. ‘She was very impressed with your work. In fact, she was so overwhelmed that the magazine is going to showcase your work as their main feature.’
‘Get away! Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Believe it. It’s time you had more faith in yourself. If all goes well at the exhibition, your work will attract a lot of attention.’
‘As long as it’s only my work, I won’t have a problem. Besides, it’s not that I don’t have faith in my work, but you can never be sure what reporters might write.’
Lauren hadn’t known how to take Mrs Preston’s cold personality. She had asked straight-to-the-point questions, firing them at Lauren without mercy. She had even asked why Lauren refused to let the press print her picture. Without going into too much detail, she’d told her it was personal, hoping the austere woman would leave it at that. The way Mrs Preston had talked about her work, Lauren got the idea that she hadn’t thought much of it.
‘Will you be seeing Emma again?’ Frankie asked, interrupting her reverie of the interview.
He sat down again, looking very comfortable and at ease. Lauren wondered how some people could make themselves at home wherever they went, whilst she always furtively glanced at the nearest exit. Old habits die hard.
She realised Frankie was waiting for an answer.
‘I dunno. We didn’t make any plans or anything.’ And why didn’t I? For starters, she didn’t know what this coincidental encounter meant. It wasn’t as if they could pick up from fourteen years ago when … when what? She kissed Emma because she had felt sorry for her. She had wanted people to stop bullying her. That was all. So why have I never forgotten that moment if it was just a sympathy kiss?
No, it had been more than that, and Lauren knew it; she just didn’t want to accept it. If she did, she would have to admit her connection with Emma was some
thing she had never experienced since. Well, until tonight, that was.
Why was she thinking like this? Nothing would come of her reconnecting with Emma. Having a normal life with someone was way out of her reach. But daydreaming stove off the days when her lonely existence convinced her she would be alone forever.
‘She’s a very attractive woman.’
A picture of Emma floated in her head. ‘So I noticed.’
Frankie clasped his hands together as if she’d revealed a secret. ‘Ah, so you did, did you?’
‘Of course. But it’s not as simple as that.’
‘Now I am intrigued. Do explain.’
‘There’s nothing to explain. I’m here to do a show. In two weeks, I’ll be going back to Paris to resume my life there. I don’t have time for a relationship. End of.’
‘Who said anything about relationships?’
‘Forget I mentioned it. I’m not interested in … anyone.’ Lauren took a long sip of wine out of Emma’s glass to stop herself from saying anything more.
‘Point taken. Can I ask you something personal?’
‘Nothing’s stopped you before,’ she said.
‘How do you do it?’
Lauren threw him a puzzled look. ‘Do what? Not fall head over heels in love with gorgeous women?’
‘No. Live with this dark cloud over you all the time.’
‘Who says I do?’ She suppressed the urge to take a deep breath. She didn’t want to talk about her situation in detail, but she gave in at the desperate expression on his face. ‘I try not to think about it. The fear, the thing that makes me want to dig myself a deep hole to hide in, fits me like a second skin. I accept that someone out there wants to harm me, and I do my utmost to ensure it doesn’t happen.’
He looked at her imploringly. ‘I want—’
‘Please don’t say you want to look after me, Frankie, because that’s not what I need. When I’m in Paris, I live a next-to-normal life. It’s coming back here that’s caused my anxiety to kick in big time.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said and pushed himself to his feet. ‘And this is the problem with alcohol. It goes right bloody through me. Mind if I use your loo?’
‘Feel free.’
Lauren drained the remaining wine in the glass and refilled it. It was nice to have company, be it male or female. She ignored the niggling thought telling her she’d much rather have Emma sitting on the sofa than Frankie.
Frankie returned with an envelope in hand. ‘This letter just came through the door with pizza delivery leaflets.’
She stared up at the envelope. ‘It’ll be for the owner. You can leave it on the side table.’
‘Unless you share the same name as your landlord, I’m pretty sure this is meant for you. Look, it has your real name on it, Lauren.’ He passed her the envelope.
She slipped her hand inside and pulled out the paper.
‘My real name? Are you—’ The words caught in her throat, and her eyes darted around the room. The once large space closed in on her and she couldn’t breathe. A roaring sound assaulted her ears and spots danced in front of her eyes, making her think, abstractly, that she might faint. She gasped, trying to pull air into her starved lungs. She lunged forward, falling on all fours on the soft rug.
No! It can’t be happening. Please, not again! When was he here? The invisible monster was back. Where was he now? The note was lying on the floor face up, the black words on the white paper taunting her:
Your lights are still on. Aren’t you sleeping yet?
Lauren pushed herself into a sitting position, her back against the sofa. She gripped her knees against her chest protectively. Would she ever be safe again?
Speaking in a raspy voice, she said, ‘I’ve got to get out of here, Frankie. He’s found me.’
‘Calm down. Breathe. Deep breaths. It’s all right.’
Frankie ran to the front door, and she heard him open it. Crawling back onto the sofa, she waited with bated breath until she heard Frankie’s familiar footsteps walk back towards the room.
‘I’ve checked outside. No one’s there.’
Lauren inhaled deeply to calm her erratic thoughts.
Frankie ran his hand through his hair, looking as frantic as she felt. ‘Come on, get some stuff together. You’re coming home with me.’
‘No,’ she said, thinking of the sleeping arrangements in Frankie’s one-bedroom apartment.
‘You can’t stay here alone, Lauren,’ Frankie said, pulling her to her feet and embracing her.
‘I won’t.’ Lauren considered calling Fiona, bundling up her belongings, and fleeing back to Paris with her, but she couldn’t abandon Frankie and the exhibition he had put so much work into. She was in a vulnerable position and risking her safety by staying there, but where else could she go and not have to speak about the unexpected turn of events? Unless … She thought of Emma and whether it would be brazen of her to turn up on her doorstep. She did say to drop by.
‘Will you walk with me across the road? I’ll go to Emma’s for a while,’ she said, drawing back away from him. Once Lauren was out of the apartment, she would feel safer. Her bewildered brain would clear, and she would be stronger when considering her next move.
‘Of course,’ Frankie said, searching around for Lauren’s jacket.
As they emerged onto the street, the air held a menacing feel. Panic bubbled inside her when she noticed a car parked across the road under the street lamp. The driver, a man she didn’t recognise, stared back at her. Was he the one who had put the note through her letterbox? Her hands shook as she sought out Frankie’s arm. Just when she was about to point the man out to him, a woman flanked by three small children approached the car and got in. The engine started and they drove away.
Pull yourself together. She tugged at Frankie’s arm and headed in the direction of Emma’s apartment block. The street ahead was completely empty. Relief washed over her. Whoever had posted the letter was no longer around, not that she could see anyway. Nonetheless, she took comfort in Frankie’s presence. She was safe for now, but tomorrow was another matter altogether.
Chapter Thirteen
Emma had been spying on Frankie and Lauren for ten minutes. Nothing was amiss. They were having drinks like normal friends. Somewhat bored by the scene, Emma popped into the loo for two minutes, and when she returned, it was to a scene that twisted her heart.
I knew it! I knew there was something going on between those two!
Lauren was in Frankie’s arms. Emma could scarcely draw a breath as she watched.
He was holding her close like a long-lost lover reunited with his heart’s desire. How cruel and unfair of fate to bring Lauren back into her life, only for her to witness this. It occurred to her that if she’d thrown her spyglasses away like she was supposed to, she wouldn’t have seen any of this and would have been none the wiser. So, in essence, she only had herself to blame. Emma drew the curtains closed and threw the binoculars on the bed.
If she wanted entertainment, she’d stick to Netflix. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. She cursed as she wandered aimlessly around the apartment, moving from room to room. When did life become so goddamn boring!
TV was crap; it was as if those in charge of programme scheduling thought most of the population had dementia and weren’t aware they were showing repeat after repeat of the same programmes that hadn’t been worth watching the first time round. Getting blind drunk was out of the question; the older she got, the worse her hangovers became. The last time she’d been on a bender with Kelly from work, it had taken a whole week for her to fully recover. God! She was becoming a boring, old spinster. Next, I’ll take up knitting!
She tortured herself with the image of what her life would have been like with Lauren in it. They would be snuggled up together on the sofa, drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows floating on top, watching a movie. Or better still, they’d be in her candlelit bedroom, naked, their bodies hot and slick from their hours of ad
venturous lovemaking.
Hmm, now that would be nice. Nice? No, that would be amazing! But that won’t be happening any time soon. Not with Mr Pretty Boy to keep her company.
She strode to the living room and switched on the TV. The thought of spending the next two days alone was more than she could bear.
Emma had just started watching The Flash when her buzzer rang. With little enthusiasm, she wondered who could be calling. It couldn’t be Hope; she was out on the town with an old friend from school she’d bumped into earlier in the week. This left only a deliveryman wanting to gain access to the building. Welcome to my exciting life!
She picked up the intercom phone and pressed it to her ear. ‘Hello.’
‘Emma, it’s Lauren. Can I come up?’
Emma jerked back as if someone had poked her in her ear. She stared at the receiver, convinced she was hearing things. Oh my God, she saw me. She knows I was watching her and ... him! I can’t open the door. I can’t! I’ll never live this down.
‘Emma?’
Why did I speak? I could have pretended I’m not here.
‘Emma, are you there? Hello?’
A hint of desperation tinged Lauren’s voice. Without a second thought, Emma pressed the release button.
‘Sorry, there’s something wrong with my intercom. Come up.’
Emma opened the front door and waited. Ten minutes passed without any sign of Lauren. Convinced she’d changed her mind, Emma grabbed the handle to close the door, when she heard footsteps rushing down the hall. Lauren finally appeared at her door, her face flushed.
‘Lauren?’
‘I’m really sorry to drop in out of the blue, but—’
Emma’s smile collapsed into a frown at the sight of Lauren’s trembling hand, and she steered her inside.
‘What’s happened? Are you okay? Did Frankie hurt you?’
Lauren met her gaze. ‘Frankie?’
‘Yeah, the bloke you—’
‘No, no one’s done anything to me.’
Lauren’s cheeks were so flushed that it alarmed Emma. She put a hand on Lauren’s arm. ‘But you’re breathless, like you’ve been running.’
