by Elise Noble
“Yes, Mum.”
“Stop being such a brat.”
Down in the parking garage, I gazed wistfully at the Aston Martin, but we couldn’t take that because it didn’t have enough seats. I was about to climb into the front of the Land Rover that had appeared from somewhere when the roller shutter slowly began to open. Who was coming in from the outside?
Oh. Bethany, on foot. It was kind of nice that Emmy had lent her a parking space after she lost hers. Gave me hope that Emmy wasn’t as much of a hard-nosed bitch as she made out.
Bethany stared for a moment as she tried to work out who I was, and I didn’t bother to hide my smirk when she finally worked it out. Yeah, love, the street girl can do posh.
“Uh, hello.” She held out her keys. “I just came to, uh…”
Emmy gave her an encouraging smile. “Have at it. We’re on the way out ourselves. How are you settling in with your new job?”
“Well, I haven’t actually started yet. Not until tomorrow.”
“Have you met everyone?”
“Not Judd or Naz, although I’ve heard a lot about them. Mostly Judd, actually.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m sure I’ll learn to cope with him. And I met Ravi yesterday, but not for work. It was Alaric’s daughter’s birthday, so we went to one of those escape rooms and then had lunch.”
Emmy stiffened. Just slightly, but I was sure I hadn’t imagined it.
“Alaric’s daughter…right. How old is she now? I lose track.”
“Fifteen. And so incredibly smart, just like her father.”
“Just like her father. Of course. Crazy how fast they grow up, isn’t it? One moment, they’re not there at all, and suddenly… Poof, they’re teenagers.”
“I don’t have children of my own, but that’s the way it was with my cousin’s kids. I bought the wrong birthday card once—eleven instead of twelve—and Mother’s never let me live it down.”
“Funny what’s important to some people.” Emmy glanced at her watch. “Sorry, but we need to go.”
Bethany gave a cutesy little wave. “See you later. And thanks so much for letting me park here.”
The whole car rattled as Emmy slammed the door. What was she so pissed about? My lateness? It was only five minutes.
“What did the door ever do to you?”
“Put your seat belt on.”
“Yes, M—”
“Don’t say it,” she growled.
I clicked the buckle into place just in time as she gunned it towards the barely open gates, clearing each side with less than an inch to spare, then screwed my eyes shut as she skidded out onto the street right in front of a truck. Bloody hell. Then and there, I swore I’d never be late again.
Lenny looked thoroughly miserable when we left him on the third floor of the Abbey Clinic, but since he had a private room nicer than any place either of us had ever lived in, Albany House excepted, I didn’t feel too sorry for him. That and he was in the best place to help him recover.
“We discourage contact between patients and their families for the first two weeks,” the nurse told us. “We find it can have an unsettling effect, and we prefer our guests to focus on their therapy sessions.”
“But you’ll call if there are any problems?” I asked.
“Most definitely. And you’re welcome to speak to a member of staff if you have concerns—any time, day or night.”
This was what I’d wanted—a future for Lenny. But as I followed Emmy towards the elevator at the end of the hallway, I couldn’t help the nervousness that fluttered in my belly because I’d sold my soul to the she-devil to get him here. Now I had to perform. So far, Emmy hadn’t asked much of me, just a gym session yesterday in between her commitments at the office, and I knew it was the calm before the storm. The real test would begin on Wednesday once we touched down in America. Until today, I’d never even had a passport, but one had arrived by courier this morning with my name and photo but a date of birth two months before my real birthday. I was officially an adult now, and even though I’d been fending for myself and Lenny for years, it still felt like a big step to take. Plus I’d been cheated out of a birthday cake.
The sliding doors closed, and Emmy stared straight ahead. I’d learned she didn’t much care for elevators. Earlier, she’d wanted to take the stairs, but the orderly wagged a finger and informed us they were for emergency use only. They needed to keep track of the patients, you see.
The elevator stopped on the second floor, and a nurse got in with a blonde wearing a light-blue tracksuit. I didn’t pay much attention until the woman leaned forward to peer at Emmy, getting right into her space. Emmy didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t have expected her to.
“Do I know you?” the blonde asked.
Emmy gave the faintest shake of her head. “No, you don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“But you look familiar. Were you a guest here?”
The nurse gave the woman’s arm a light tug. “Julie, you mustn’t ask questions like that.”
“Why? I’m sure I’ve met her before.”
The door opened on the first floor, and the nurse shepherded Julie out. Emmy’s face was blank, but the set of her jaw gave away her clenched teeth.
“Bitch,” she murmured when the pair were out of earshot, “you don’t have the first fucking clue who I am.”
The doors closed with a quiet swoosh.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“Not anymore, and every day, I’m grateful for that.”
Emmy folded her arms, and I let the subject drop. Whoever Julie was, Emmy clearly didn’t like her, and I didn’t want to upset my new boss further by pushing the matter. But maybe I’d ask Lenny later on. My curiosity had been piqued, and he might be able to find out more about the one woman I’d seen ruffle Emmy.
CHAPTER 33 - EMMY
“WHAT DID THAT punching bag ever do to you?” Black asked, his smooth tones dripping from hidden speakers. It was my fault the speakers were there. I’d ignored a phone call from Nate once, so he’d wired the whole damn house for sound.
“Are you spying on me again?”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I can’t hear it over the music.”
“Then turn the music down. People need to be able to contact you.”
The sound faded and the music video on the flat-screen disappeared, replaced by Black’s impassive face. He hadn’t shaved since he got back to the US. Didn’t seem to have showered either judging by the streaks of dirt.
“You obviously can contact me, so what’s the problem?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“Which brings us back to my first question.”
“How was Belize?”
I gave the punchbag a solid kick, and another inch of seam split. Sand trickled out onto the gym mats.
“Stop changing the subject. Does your nose still hurt? Is that what you’re pissed about?”
“Not really. I hired the girl who broke it, by the way. She’s a pain in the ass.”
“You what?”
“Her name’s Sky. She starts on Wednesday.”
“Rewind. Can we go from the top?”
“Sure. You already know the first part. Found painting. Got nose broken. Lost painting. Then Sky turned up with a lead, her brother took an overdose and died, we resuscitated him, and I offered her a job.”
“‘We’ being…?”
“Me and Alaric.”
“Where is Alaric?”
The way Black asked the question, I knew he’d already overridden the security system and checked all the cameras in the entire house.
“Who the fuck knows? Probably with his daughter. Did you know he had a daughter? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”
Black raised one eyebrow a millimetre, which was about as expressive as he got.
“He met someone while he was away? He was gone for over sev
en years, Diamond. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.”
“She’s fifteen.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly. Oh. And I only found out because his new PA, who, by the way, he met less than a week ago, let it slip by accident. He told her and not me. I can deal with most things, but when the people close to me lie…”
“Technically, he didn’t lie. He just didn’t tell you he had a kid.”
“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie, Black. And the fact that Alaric was a father the whole time we were dating is a pretty big bloody deal.”
“You’ve made no secret of the fact you don’t want to be a mother. Maybe he was worried about your reaction?”
“Why are you defending him? You don’t even like him.”
Black sighed. “I just hate seeing you upset. Do you want me to find out more about this child?”
“No. I want to find this damn painting—paintings, plural, now that we’ve lost another one—and get closure on the past. I offered the guest house to Alaric before Bethany mentioned his sprog, so that should be fun next week.”
“Want me to un-offer it?”
Did I? It was tempting, but there was enough animosity between them as it was.
“No, I’ll suck it up.”
Black leaned back in his chair. I could see from the edge of the framed etching on the wall—a rather grim Goya he’d picked up in a private sale a decade ago—that he was in our shared study at Riverley Hall.
“So that’s why you’re upset?”
“Partly.”
A piece of the tape on my hand started to come unstuck, and I tore at it with my teeth. Yeah, I probably should’ve worn gloves, but sometimes, I needed pain on the outside to distract from the pain on the inside.
“Partly?”
“As part of the deal with Sky, I said I’d pay for rehab for her brother. Who isn’t her real brother, and is an absolute dick. But she cares for him, and I wanted her to take the job, so there we go. Anyhow, Bradley found a place to put him. The best in London, apparently. The Abbey Clinic. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“Shit.” Yup, Black knew exactly who I’d run into there. “What did she say?”
“Not much. She thought she might have seen me someplace before, but she just…couldn’t…quite…think where.”
And quite frankly, I wasn’t sure what was worse—that my own mother hadn’t recognised me, or the prospect of her suddenly realising I was the offspring she’d basically forgotten existed twenty years ago and wanting to talk about all the shit she’d put me through. Was it any wonder I didn’t want to be a parent with Julie Emerson as my role model? Not really, but I still felt crappy about it because even though Black assured me that he respected my decision, I knew he liked the idea of being a father.
For the best part of two decades, I’d assumed Julie was dead—she’d taken every drug she could get her hands on back in the day—but Black had mentioned a few years ago that she was still breathing. I hadn’t wanted to talk to her when I found out. I still didn’t. Quite frankly, I’d rather drop-kick her off a skyscraper than rehash the past.
“Diamond, I’m sorry. Sorry she hurt you then and sorry she hurt you now. Do you want me to cut her off? I’ve considered it before, but…she’s your mother.”
Honestly? She deserved it, but if I had her tossed out on the street, that would make me as bad as her.
“Leave things as they are. But I don’t ever want to set eyes on her again.”
“Noted. You mentioned Sky’s starting on Wednesday—does that mean you’re coming home?”
I nodded, then followed up with, “I miss you.” Which only reminded me that I’d said something remarkably similar to Alaric not six hours ago, and now I wished I could take the words back. “This whole week’s been a pile of shit. I’m beginning to think Alaric’s right and Emerald is cursed.”
“It’s an inanimate object, Diamond. It can’t be fucking cursed.”
Yes, I’d said that too.
“Whatever. I need gin and chocolate.”
“No, you need orange juice and a salad.”
I threw my towel over the screen and put my fingers in my ears. “This conversation is over.”
CHAPTER 34 - BETHANY
SEVEN MISSED CALLS. Oops. That’d teach me to turn my phone onto silent. I’d completely forgotten until I got to the yard and couldn’t find either Chaucer or Pinkey. After a brief search, I stumbled across Pinkey in the hay barn, and Chaucer was hiding behind a clump of trees in the field, no doubt feeling work-shy.
I scanned down the list—four of the missed calls had been from Alaric, one came from an unknown number, my father had tried to get hold of me, and what did Gemma want? I tried voicemail and found four messages, all from today, starting at seven a.m.
Beth, it’s Alaric. Shit, I’m sorry about last night. Not sorry I went to the party, but things shouldn’t have happened the way they did. Can we talk?
That was followed by another message at nine.
It’s Alaric again. I’m outside your door. Are you okay? Can you call me? Five minutes, and I’m coming up to check you’re okay.
Well, I already knew how that turned out. He’d overstepped boundaries, but it also felt strangely comforting to have somebody looking out for me. He cared. Even though we were colleagues and nothing more, he cared. I forwarded to the next message.
Good morning, madam. A thousand apologies—good afternoon. My name’s Phillip, and I’m calling from Global Wealth Investors with a limited time offer…
Delete.
Bethie, I need to speak to you. Call me.
Short and not so sweet, as always. I hated calling my father. It only meant another lecture or possibly a browbeating. I’d need to psych myself up for that one.
Bethany? It’s Gemma. From the gallery? You always said I could call you if I needed to talk, and…I… It’s probably me being silly, but I just feel really uncomfortable, and— Shit, he’s coming. I’ll call you back.
All the hairs on the nape of my neck prickled. Not so much from Gemma’s words, which were worryingly vague, but from their tone. Gemma had sounded…not scared, exactly, but definitely nervous. When had she called? Two hours ago, according to the log. I tried to ring her, but it went straight to voicemail, her cheerful greeting a sharp contrast to the message she’d left earlier.
“Hey, it’s Beth. Sorry I missed your call. I’m about to ride Chaucer, but I’ll be around all afternoon if you want to talk. This evening too. Come over for dinner if you like.”
Chaucer spooked at a squirrel as we trotted through the woods, but apart from that, he was reasonably well-behaved. As I rode, it struck me that this would be the last time I saw him for a month, possibly two months depending on how long I needed to spend in America. I’d never been away from him for so long, but I had to do this for our future. If I didn’t take this job, who knew when another opportunity would come along, let alone one that paid double my previous salary.
“Don’t be naughty for Pinkey,” I told him. “And she’s under strict instructions not to give you too many treats.”
He tossed his head in response, which showed what he thought of those ideas.
I’d hoped Gemma might try to phone while I was out, but even after I’d untacked and given Chaucer his tea, my phone remained silent. I dialled again. Still no answer.
Was she okay? Should I call someone? I’d never met any of her family, which meant I’d need to speak to Henrietta or the police. Neither prospect appealed. Was I overreacting? After all, I’d gone radio silent for the entire morning and part of the afternoon today, and there I was, absolutely fine.
To hedge my bets, I tapped out a text message. Maybe she’d notice the screen light up?
Me: Hi, I’ll be home soon if you want to catch up. Let me know either way?
When Gemma hadn’t replied by the time I reached Chiswick, I began to worry more. Perhaps she was busy, out with friends, having a great time and just too busy
to check her phone. Or perhaps she…wasn’t. I might not have known how to contact her family, but I did have her address. She’d been off sick for a few days soon after I started at the gallery, and I’d got the details from Hugo so I could send a Get Well Soon card from all of us. We’d gone halves—Henrietta said it was a waste of time and refused to chip in, but I liked to think well-wishes cheered people up.
Gemma lived in North Acton. It wasn’t the nicest of areas, but if I turned around now and the traffic gods were kind, I could be there in half an hour. Maybe she’d be at home watching Netflix? If she was, I could stop worrying, and I might actually get some sleep tonight.
Sod it. I’d go.
Anslow Place turned out to be a fifties-era concrete box, four storeys of stained grey walls, tiny windows, and terrible curtains without a balcony in sight. I wedged my car in between a skip and a BMW with no wheels on the other side of the street and prayed it would still be there when I got back. And also that I didn’t get murdered. Logically, I understood that many, many people survived living in Acton every day, but my parents had spent my entire childhood warning me that anyone who didn’t look like us and talk like us was bad news, and although I was trying to re-educate myself, sometimes my baser instincts took over. I hated myself for that.
I’d worried about getting into Gemma’s building if she didn’t answer the intercom because even if I met a Peggy, what on earth would I say to her? But then a lovely chap with dreadlocks held the outer door open and waved me through.
“The lift’s dodgy, love. Best to take the stairs.”
“Uh, thank you.”
It turned out the place wasn’t as unpleasant inside as I’d imagined, and I hurried up to the second floor, my footsteps echoing in the stairwell as my riding boots clomped on the tile. Now that I was out of my car, which still reeked of Shimmer even though I’d left the windows down overnight in Emmy’s garage, I realised I smelled a little too much like Chaucer for comfort. Perhaps I should have taken a shower first? Stinking out Gemma’s flat would hardly endear me, would it?
