‘Yeah,’ Krystie said, unconvinced. Something about Philip just didn’t ring true.
‘The only problem is I’m not sure I can deal with it.’ Sinéad’s tears started to flow again. ‘It’s great working with you, Krystie, I’m enjoying it so much and you are so talented—’
‘But I’m not Sheila,’ Krystie finished for her.
Sinéad dropped her head into her arms and sobbed like a baby. Krystie crouched down and put her arms around her. ‘Oh, to hell with it, I can’t handle this any more. Sinéad, there’s something I have to tell you. I think Sheila is alive; in fact, I’m almost sure of it.’
‘Tell them.’ Sinéad sat huddled on a chair looking pale and shaken despite the repaired makeup.
Krystie looked nervously as Max, Kieran, Philip and Dylan looked at her expectantly. They were gathered in a small office area off reception.
‘What’s going on?’ Philip demanded, his usual pleasant expression creased in annoyance. ‘We can’t just disappear on our guests like this.’
‘At this stage I doubt they would notice,’ Dylan drawled. ‘Most of them are plastered.’
Max put a hand on Krystie’s shoulder. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s about Sheila. I . . . I think I saw her in New York a few weeks ago.’
Max pulled his hand away abruptly, his eyes widening with incredulity and anger. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’
‘This really isn’t funny,’ Dylan said, glaring at her and putting a protective arm around Sinéad’s shoulders.
‘I’m not making it up,’ Krystie protested. How could he think that?
‘Stop it, both of you. Tell us.’ Kieran grasped her hand, his eyes full of hope.
Krystie repeated her story word for word as she had told Sinéad, how the penny had dropped when she saw that photo of Sinéad and Sheila. She was as certain as she could be that the woman she had seen staring into the hat shop was Sheila.
‘Sheila wasn’t blonde,’ Max said.
‘If she didn’t want to be recognised, of course she’d dye it,’ Sinéad said, staring into space.
‘But you didn’t hear her voice?’ Max persisted.
‘No,’ Krystie said. ‘I spoke to her but she seemed alarmed and hurried off.’
‘It’s her,’ Sinéad said.
‘Thank God.’ Kieran crossed himself, his eyes bright with tears.
‘Dad, she caught a glimpse of a woman with blonde hair who looks like Sinéad, that’s all,’ Max protested.
‘She was looking into the window of a hat shop,’ Sinéad reminded her brother.
Dylan squeezed her shoulder. ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up, sweetheart.’
‘It’s her,’ she insisted.
‘Even if it is, you may as well try to find a needle in a haystack.’
‘If she’s alive, I’ll find her,’ Sinéad assured him.
Max drove towards his father’s house. He found it hard to believe Dad had been as chatty as Krystie had said. He sat in the passenger seat, lost in thought, responding to anything Max said with just a nod or a grunt. Krystie was silent, too. He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. Her head was resting against the window, her eyes closed. Stupid, dumb, infuriating and bloody gorgeous, sexy woman. It had been such a good evening before she went and ruined it. He didn’t know which he wanted to do more, strangle her or make love to her. And that dress! Every time she’d turned to look around or leaned forward to talk to someone across the table he’d get an exciting glimpse of the creamy skin of her back, and it had been exquisite torture resisting the temptation to touch her. He had risked it briefly a couple of times and she hadn’t objected, but he knew if he touched that soft, velvet skin again he would want to continue his exploration.
‘You missed the turn.’
His father’s first full sentence since he’d got into the car snapped him out of his daydream. ‘Shit.’ He pulled into the kerb, waited for a car to pass and then made a U-turn.
On the doorstep, Kieran turned to give him a hard stare. ‘Don’t you dare give that girl a hard time.’
‘I won’t, Dad.’
His father nodded and went inside.
‘Night, Dad,’ Max said to the closed door, and walked back out to the car. He glared when he saw Krystie still slumped in the back seat. He yanked the door open and was horrified when she cried out and started to fall. He caught her in his arms. ‘Shit, sorry, Krystie.’
She blinked. ‘What happened? Did we crash?’
‘No. I just dropped Dad off. I didn’t realise you were sleeping. I’m so sorry. I thought you might want to join me in the front.’
She straightened and looked at him, her lovely eyes full of remorse. ‘Are you sure you want me?’
He held her gaze. If only she knew how much. ‘I’m sure.’
She waited until they were back on the road before speaking again. ‘I had to say something. How could I not?’
‘Yeah, well, I just wish you’d told me and not Sinéad. She’s fragile enough as it is.’
‘But that’s exactly why I told her. So she wouldn’t be sad any more,’ she said, twisting round in the seat, her skirt riding up.
Max dragged his eyes away from her long slender legs and forced himself to concentrate on the road. ‘You think it makes her feel better thinking that her sister, her twin, might have walked away from her life leaving us in limbo, worrying, hoping, grieving? Have you any idea what the days after she disappeared were like? We went through hell. One minute there would be hope and then it would be gone, and, each time we began to accept that she was gone, we would be given more hope. It got to the point where I wanted them to find her body, and then was eaten up with guilt for wishing her dead. But it’s not knowing, Krystie, it makes you crazy. And time drags – it’s like living in a time warp, a nightmare and you get to the point where you can’t allow yourself to hope any more. At least that’s the way it was for me. If I do, then it means I have to grieve all over again, and I can’t, I just can’t. ‘ He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he struggled with the emotions she’d brought to the surface.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
He looked across at her and saw huge silent tears rolling down her cheeks. It was impossible to stay angry with this girl. ‘It’s okay. Look, I feel damn sober, but I’m probably over the limit and really shouldn’t be driving. Do you mind if we go back to my place and I’ll phone a taxi to take you home?’
‘Just drop me anywhere here, it’s fine,’ she mumbled.
‘I am not dropping you on the side of the road at two in the morning.’
‘I’m sorry, Max, really I am. I didn’t plan on blurting it out like that. I knew I had to tell one of you but I wasn’t sure who, so I was going to talk it through with Sharon tomorrow.’
He looked at her. ‘Sharon?’
‘My housemate, my best friend. But then Sinéad went to pieces in the loo and it just came out. Jeez!’
‘What?’ he said as he stopped the car outside his apartment block and pressed the remote to open the gates.
‘Do they let nobodies like me into places like this?’
He parked and turned to look at her. ‘You are not and never will be a “nobody”.’
In the lift to the penthouse suite he smiled at her obvious discomfort and the blush at the compliment he’d paid her. Despite life in New York and her smart mouth, there was still a delectable innocence about her.
His hand shook slightly as he put the key in the lock and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of the emotional evening or Krystie’s proximity. God, the effect this girl had on him was ridiculous. Get a grip, Max. ‘Make yourself at home.’ He flicked on the lights and pulled off his tie as he went through to the kitchen. He phoned the local cab firm but, lowering his voice, told them there was no rush. Taking a bottle of wine from the fridge, he grabbed two glasses and returned to find her studying the abstract hanging above the fireplace. Max put the wine and glasses down and, after switchin
g on the gas fire with the remote, came to stand beside her. ‘What do you think?’ he murmured, making her jump.
‘Oh! I didn’t hear you come in. I was too busy trying to figure out what I was looking at. It’s random but . . . interesting.’
He smiled at her. ‘Liar. You hate it.’
‘You’re right. I hate it.’ She grinned and went to sit down on the cream leather sofa.
‘I hate it too. I bought it as an investment.’ He poured the wine, handed her a glass before sitting beside her.
‘How much did you pay for it?’ She took a sip and turned towards him, crossing her legs.
He tore his gaze away from them and looked at her. ‘Two grand.’
She spluttered out the wine. ‘You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.’
He laughed. ‘I’m assured it will be worth ten times that in a few years. I hung it there to see if it would grow on me but I think it’s time to move it into the spare room.’
She looked at her glass and then back at him, her eyes teasing. ‘Shouldn’t we be drinking coffee?’
‘After everything that’s happened tonight I need a drink, and, as that’s down to you, the least you can do is keep me company.’
Her smile disappeared. ‘What do you think Sinéad will do?’
‘I’m hoping she’ll leave Philip to follow it up but she’s not known for her patience.’
‘He’s a cool customer, Philip, isn’t he? You were angry with me. Your dad and Sinéad were all emotional and Dylan looked like he wanted to thump me, but Philip . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
‘You need a poker face in politics,’ Max said. His brother-in-law had been silent until Sinéad had said she was going to find Sheila, at which point he’d told her that he would hire a private investigator in New York. It was true he had seemed to take the news very calmly, but perhaps he simply didn’t believe Krystie or was afraid to hope, poor bastard. ‘Oh, Krystie, I wish you’d told me first.’ He reached out his hand and tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear and let his hand trail down the curve of her cheek to her neck. God, he wanted her.
‘Me too.’ She met his eyes. ‘But would you have done anything?’
‘Of course I’d do something. What do you take me for?’ He took his hand away, annoyed.
‘What?’ she challenged him.
‘Are you always so confrontational?’ he countered. My God, she had to be the most complicated woman he’d ever met. She irritated him, amused him and fascinated him, and right now he really wanted to kiss that mouth. ‘If you convinced me that it was really Sheila I would contact the police.’
She looked at him, her beautiful blue eyes reproachful. ‘So you doubt me.’
‘It’s nothing personal, Krystie, but you only saw her for moments so, yes, I think you were probably mistaken. And think about it: if it was her, what does that mean?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Her car was left by a pier with all her things inside. It looked like suicide or some sort of attack or abduction, and then she turns up in New York, not a bother on her, window shopping? There’s only one conclusion I can come to: that she wanted us to think that she was dead.’
Krystie stared at him. ‘But why?’
He held up his hands. ‘You tell me. It would be a cruel thing to do, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, looking guilty again.
‘You don’t know Sheila, Krystie, really know her. We’ve been through so much as a family and she was the one who got us through it and out the other side. She would never do anything to hurt us; it’s just not in her makeup. Quite apart from the fact that there is no logical reason in the world why she would do it. There were no family rows, no worries. Sheila was happy.’
‘But if she was happy why would she take her own life? Or do you think someone killed her and tried to make it look like suicide?’
‘I don’t know, Krystie. I just know that if she left she took nothing with her. No clothes, no cards, no passport. How could she have got into the USA without a passport?’
She dropped her head into her hands, distracting him with another look at her delicious bare back. ‘I’m going mad. I must be. I was so sure it was her. I was so sure. I’m sorry.’
‘Hey.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, you meant well. I’ll talk to Philip tomorrow and we’ll come up with a plan of action.’
‘But if she didn’t have her passport—’
‘It doesn’t matter, Krystie. Dad and Sinéad won’t rest until we follow this up.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? You must wish you’d never laid eyes on me.’
‘I wish for many things, Krystie, but that isn’t one of them,’ he said and, tilting her chin, he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. When she didn’t pull away he pulled her close and kissed her again. She tasted even sweeter than he’d imagined and when he ran his thumb down her spine she shivered, put her arms round his neck and buried her fingers in his hair. He deepened the kiss and she melted against him, returning his kisses with a hunger that matched his own. Max moved his lips down her neck to her bare shoulder and slid his hand inside the back of her dress. She trembled under his fingers as he caressed the base of her spine with one hand and ran the other up the inside of one silken thigh.
A buzzer rang loudly and Krystie jumped. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘The damn taxi,’ he muttered. He was about to suggest he send it away, but Krystie was already on her feet straightening her clothes, her cheeks flushed, whether from embarrassment, wine or passion he wasn’t sure. ‘Saved by the bell,’ he joked, standing up and taking her hand.
She smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks for the wine, Max, and again, I’m sorry.’
‘Stop apologising. What’s done is done. And if nothing else you’ve made Dad and Sinéad very happy.’
She sighed. ‘I hope it stays that way.’
‘Amen.’
Chapter Fifteen
Sheila had been working hard all morning and was feeling quite pleased with herself. She had never felt so creative or happy or fulfilled. Yes, of course she missed home, and sometimes Sinéad’s absence from her life was like a physical pain, but her heart would harden. She would adjust and the happiness she felt from doing what she loved best and being here in Manhattan with Karl made up for all she had lost. Well, it would – given time.
She was contemplating braving the icy temperature and going for a walk before making dinner when the phone rang. Assuming it was Karl, she hurried to where she had left it on the kitchen counter and froze when she saw the number. What the hell? They had agreed no contact unless it was something very important, a matter of life or death. Her stomach churned as she picked up the phone with trembling fingers. ‘Hello?’
Sheila was sitting in the window seat, her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms clutched around them when Karl got home from work. He walked in and turned on the light, starting when he saw her. ‘Jeez, you gave me a fright, I thought you were out. What are you doing sitting in the dark?’ He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
She looked up at him. ‘They know, Karl.’
He sank down beside her. ‘The family? They can’t possibly.’
‘They do. I don’t know where this leaves me. I’m not sure what to do.’
‘Calm down.’ He took her shaking hands in his. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
She told him about the phone call. ‘Can you believe the coincidence? Not only the fact that in a city with more than eight million people I bump into a girl who knows me, but she ends up working for Sinéad. What are the chances? It’s laughable but I feel more like crying.’
‘She thinks she saw you, so they don’t “know” anything for sure. Don’t assume the worst.’
‘You don’t know Sinéad. She will get right on this and before you know it there will be photos of me on the Internet and posters plaster
ed all over town. It’s only a matter of time before one of your friends or someone from the building makes the connection.’
He snorted. ‘Sweetheart, this is New York. How many people do you think even notice those posters, let alone read them?’
‘Perhaps I should just go back and face the music, get it over with.’
‘There’s no reason to make any snap decisions. Come on, let’s go out. We can talk about it over dinner.’
‘Oh, I don’t know—’
He stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘I won’t let you turn into a hermit. Now go put some clean clothes on, woman, I’m starving.’
Sheila humoured him and dropped the subject, but all she could think about was what was happening back home right now. She knew how each of her family would be reacting. Dad would be emotional, hopeful. Max would be sceptical. Philip would be panicking and Sinéad would want to take immediate action; she was probably booking her ticket to JFK right now. Yes, her sister was the biggest threat to disrupting her new life. She would be like a dog with a bone, just as Sheila would be if the situations were reversed.
Kieran sat down on the edge of the grave. ‘Incredible, isn’t it, Maggie? I’ll be honest with you, I’m afraid to believe it.’
He threw an apologetic glance at the headstone. ‘But Sheila never suffered with her nerves. Even when she was doing her exams and Sinéad was in a panic, Sheila just got on with it. Perhaps she just had too much on her plate. I know I depended on her too much but, trust me, she liked being in control. She liked organising us all. I don’t believe Philip would have ever got elected without her.’
He glanced at his watch and quickly finished tidying the grave. Beth would be waiting. ‘Now don’t go thinking that this means anything, Maggie. It’s just nice to have some company my own age and, yes, female company. You know better than anyone that I always preferred it. It’s no more than companionship and there’s no doubt she’s a bloody good cook.’ He chuckled and, getting to his feet, dusted off his hands. ‘Right, Maggie, I’ll see you next week and, please God, I’ll have some good news.’ He hurried out of the graveyard, passed the pub and headed for Beth’s house.
First We Take Manhattan Page 13
