Sinful Truths

  “Belle—”

  “Don’t touch me,” she said in a strained voice.

  “Belle!” Jake was desperate now. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “You didn’t believe me,” she said, her eyes as clear and cold as an arctic lake. “Do you think this makes a difference? Do you honestly think because my mother has absolved me of all blame that I’ll forgive you for what you’ve done? Grow up, Jake. I don’t need your absolution. I don’t need anything anymore.”

  in

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  Anne Mather

  SINFUL TRUTHS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE apartment was in one of the more expensive parts of the city. Not a high-rise, despite the many luxury apartments that were available in that kind of real estate. No, the apartment Isobel had chosen was on the upper floor of a converted Victorian townhouse, and what it lacked in modern amenities it more than made up for in style and elegance.

  It didn’t surprise Jake that she had preferred the older building. Isobel came from old money, and, however straitened her circumstances, she’d rather freeze in rooms that had never been intended to be warmed by central heating than live in comfort in contemporary uniformity.

  Not that it hadn’t been expensive. Jake knew exactly how expensive it had been. He should do, he reflected ironically. He’d bought it for her when they separated, and he’d held the lease on it ever since.

  Jake had to park his car on the adjoining street and walk the couple of hundred yards to Eaton Crescent. It was raining, typical May weather, and he scowled as the downpour soaked the shoulders of his leather jacket. Another jacket bites the dust, he thought resignedly, wondering when he’d got used to discarding clothes like unwanted parking tickets. He should have used an umbrella. There was a golfing one in the boot of his car, put there by a grateful salesman when he’d bought the expensive vehicle. Needless to say, it had never been used.

  There was a panel beside the door with the names of the various occupants of the apartments beside individual bells. It was supposed to be for security purposes, but Jake knew that persistent callers simply rang all the bells until someone was foolish enough to let them in. There was no intercom, and although at the time he’d bought it he’d expressed his doubts to Isobel, she had been indifferent to his concerns.

  ‘Don’t pretend you care what happens to us,’ she’d declared coldly, on their way back to the estate agent’s office, and he’d refused to take the bait.

  Now, pushing back the thoughts of that ugliness, Jake pressed Isobel’s bell and waited for the door to unlatch. She knew he was coming so she could hardly pretend to be out.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Almost immediately the catch was released and he pushed open the door into the hall.

  Despite its rather gloomy interior, the hall smelled pleasantly of pot-pourri and furniture polish. A cleaning service kept the public halls and stairways in excellent repair, and the immediate impression was of warmth and gentility.

  The door closed automatically behind him, and after brushing a careless hand over his wet hair Jake mounted the carpeted stairs two at a time. He was breathing a little heavily when he reached the second landing, and he reminded himself that he hadn’t been to the gym in a while. Sitting in front of a computer might be easier than cutting rocks, so to speak, but it was a hell of a lot less healthy.

  Isobel’s door wasn’t open. He’d thought it might have been as she’d obviously let him in, but it wasn’t. Restraining the impulse to try the handle, he lifted his hand and knocked, waiting a little impatiently for her to answer.

  But Isobel didn’t answer the door. Emily did. And she stood glaring at him with all the rage and resentment he’d used to expect from her mother.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Her question took him by surprise. He’d felt sure Isobel would have discussed his visit with her. But clearly she hadn’t, and he was left having to explain to a precocious ten-year-old that her mother was expecting him.

  ‘Well, she’s not here,’ Emily declared with evident satisfaction. ‘So you’ll just have to come back some other time.’

  Jake blinked. ‘You’re not serious,’ he said, recalling the trouble he’d had keeping this appointment in the first place. Not to mention the bitch of having to park in the next street and walk half a mile in the pouring rain.

  ‘Yeah, I am, actually,’ the girl responded smugly. She was obviously enjoying his frustration. She made as if to close the door again. ‘I’ll be sure and tell her you called—’

  ‘Wait!’ Before she could slam the door in his face, Jake wedged his foot against the jamb. He winced as the heavy wood thudded against his boot, but he held firm, and Emily was eventually forced to admit defeat.

  ‘Mummy’s not going to like this, you know,’ she exclaimed, tossing back her plait of dark brown hair. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘I can and I will,’ retorted Jake grimly. ‘Now, why don’t you stop behaving like a brat and tell your mother I’m waiting?’

  ‘I’ve told you, she’s not here,’ declared Emily, her voice wobbling a little now. ‘Who do you think you are, trying to force your way in here, frightening me?’

  Jake had thought it would take rather more than his not unfamiliar presence to frighten Isobel’s daughter, but perhaps he was wrong. In any event, he was suddenly reminded that despite the fact that she was tall for her age—and insolent, as he knew to his cost—she was still a child, and he regretted losing his temper with her.

  So all he said was, ‘I’m your mother’s husband. Now, where is she? She knew I was coming. Why the—why isn’t she here?’

  Emily pursed her lips. ‘She’s at Granny’s,’ she admitted after a minute. ‘I don’t know how long she’s going to be.’

  ‘At your grandmother’s?’ Jake felt his temper simmering again, and determinedly tamped it down. But he should have known that Lady Hannah would have some hand in this. She had never liked him, never approved of her daughter having anything to do with him. Never accepted that without his help she wouldn’t still own that mouldering pile she called the family seat.

  Now he took a deep breath. ‘You don’t mean she’s in Yorkshire, do you?’

  ‘No.’ Emily pouted. ‘She’s at a Granny’s flat.’

  ‘Right.’ At least that wasn’t a couple of hundred miles away. ‘What’s she doing there?’ he asked, proud that no evidence of his own frustration showed in his voice.

  Emily shrugged her thin shoulders and he thought how like Isobel she was. Her hair was lighter, of course, and at present her childish features only hinted that one day she might possess her mother’s beauty. But she was tall and slender, and her eyes were the same luminous shade of blue.

  ‘Granny sent for her,’ she answered at last. Then, as if compelled to make the compromise, ‘She’s not very well.’

  A curse slipped out before he could prevent it, but the only reaction Emily made was to arch her brows in a reproof that was uncannily like her grandmother’s. ‘So you’ve no idea when
she’ll be back?’

  Emily hesitated. ‘Well—she said she wouldn’t be long,’ she muttered unwillingly.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Jake had just had a thought. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Emily resumed her defiant attitude. ‘I’m not a baby, you know.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Jake scowled. ‘But even a ten-year-old should know better than to open the door to a stranger.’

  ‘Actually, I’m almost eleven,’ Emily corrected him scornfully. ‘Not that I’d expect you to remember that. You’re just my father.’

  ‘I am not your—’

  Jake broke off abruptly. He refused to get into an argument with her about her parentage. He didn’t know why the hell Isobel had told her he was her father, unless it was her way of shifting the blame. It was certainly true that it had caused an unbreakable rift between him and her daughter. And any hope he might have had of making an ally of the child had been stymied by her lies.

  ‘Anyway, I knew it was you,’ Emily added carelessly. ‘I saw you out of the window.’ Her eyes surveyed him with a surprisingly adult appraisal. ‘You’re wet.’

  Jake’s jaw compressed. ‘You noticed,’ he said drily, glancing down at his rain-spotted jacket. ‘Yeah, you may have observed that it’s raining.’

  ‘Peeing it down,’ agreed Emily, with a calculated effort to shock. ‘I s’pose you’d better come in.’

  Jake hesitated. ‘Did your mother tell you I was coming?’ he demanded, suddenly sensing why she’d been looking out of the window. He wondered if it also explained Isobel’s willingness to leave her daughter alone while she travelled across London at the start of the rush hour. My God, did she expect him to stay until she got back? To act as Emily’s babysitter, no less?

  ‘She might have done,’ Emily responded indifferently, turning and walking away from him. She paused halfway down the hall and looked back at him. ‘Are you coming in or not?’

  Or not, thought Jake savagely, glancing at the narrow gold watch on his wrist and stifling an oath. It was already after five. He’d promised Marcie he’d pick her up from her hairdresser’s in Mayfair at six. Dammit, he wasn’t going to make it.

  He heard the sound of a door opening downstairs and looked hopefully over the banister. But it was only one of the other tenants, probably arriving home from work. Suppressing his anger, he stepped unwillingly into his wife’s apartment.

  Emily had already taken his acceptance for granted and disappeared into a room at the end of the hall. If Jake’s memory served him correctly it was the kitchen, and, shrugging out of his wet jacket, he shouldered the outer door closed and followed her.

  As he’d expected, Emily was in the kitchen, filling the kettle at the sink and plugging it in.

  ‘I expect you’d like some coffee,’ she said, her cool detachment reminding him again of her mother. ‘I’m afraid it’s only instant. Mummy says we can’t afford anything else.’

  Jake gritted his teeth as he slung his jacket onto a vacant stool. The casual aside had really got to him. Why couldn’t they afford anything else? He’d paid Isobel enough over the years, goodness knew.

  But it wasn’t something he wanted to take up with the child, and he watched from between lowered lids as Emily spooned coffee into a china mug. She was evidently used to the task. She cast a glance in his direction as she took a jug of milk from the fridge.

  ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ she asked politely, and Jake blew out an exasperated breath.

  ‘I didn’t say I wanted anything,’ he said shortly. Then, unwillingly, ‘Ought you to be handling boiling water?’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Emily gave him a cynical look. ‘Don’t pretend you care what happens to me.’ The luminous blue eyes dismissed his concern. ‘And, as it happens, I’m perfectly capable of making tea or coffee. I’ve been doing it for ages.’

  Jake’s jaw compressed. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do say so.’ Emily braced herself against the counter, arms spread out to either side. ‘So—what do you want?’

  ‘Like I’m going to tell a precocious little girl like you,’ retorted Jake, resenting her tone. ‘When did your mother leave?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘A little while ago.’

  ‘How little a while ago?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She put up her hand and pulled her plait over one shoulder. ‘An hour, maybe.’

  ‘An hour?’

  Jake felt slightly reassured. By his reckoning, it should take Isobel no more than an hour to reach the service flat in Bayswater. She’d spend—what?—maybe half an hour with her mother before coming back? Two and a half hours in all. Which meant he would be too late to pick Marcie up as he’d expected, but not too late to make their dinner engagement with the Allens.

  ‘You didn’t say how you liked your coffee.’

  While he’d been mulling over his options the kettle had boiled and Emily had filled the mug with boiling water. ‘I—as it comes,’ he muttered, deciding there was no point in complaining now that the coffee was made. ‘Thanks,’ he added, when she pushed the mug towards him. His lips twisted. ‘Aren’t you joining me?’

  ‘I don’t drink coffee,’ said Emily, hesitating a moment before leading the way into the adjoining living room. ‘We might as well go in here.’

  Jake arched his brows, but, picking up his jacket and his coffee, he followed her. She was right. He might as well make himself comfortable. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere until Isobel got home.

  The living room was the largest room in the apartment. When Isobel had moved in she’d furnished it in a manner that suited the high ceilings and polished wood floors. Instead of modern chairs and sofas she’d chosen a pair of mahogany-framed settees and two high-backed armchairs upholstered in burgundy velvet. There were several occasional tables and a carved oak cabinet containing the china and silverware her mother had given them as a wedding present. A tall bookcase, crammed with books, flanked the Adam-style fireplace, where Isobel’s only concession to the twenty-first century smouldered behind a glass screen. But an open fire would have been too dangerous with a young child in the apartment, and the gas replacement was very convincing.

  Long velvet curtains hung at the broad bay windows, their dark rose colour faded to a muted shade. The huge rug that occupied the centre of the floor was faded, too, and Jake wondered if that was a deliberate choice. Goodness knew, with the money he paid her every month—and her job—she shouldn’t be hard up.

  But as he looked about him he noticed there were definite signs of wear and tear about the place. The cabinets were in need of attention and the polished floor was scuffed. Was Isobel finding it too much, juggling a job and looking after her home and family?

  Determined not to feel in any way responsible for Isobel’s problems, Jake draped his jacket over the back of a chair. Then, lounging onto one of the sofas, he hooked an ankle across his knee. The coffee was too hot to drink at present, so he set the mug on the floor beside him.

  He should have known better, he reflected, as Emily hustled across the room to set an end table beside him. She placed a coaster on it and bent to pick up his mug, but he forestalled her. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, containing his impatience. ‘You can go and do your homework or whatever it is you usually do at this time of the afternoon.’

  But Emily apparently had no intention of leaving him on his own. ‘I can do my homework later,’ she said, seating herself in the armchair across the hearth from him. ‘I’ve got plenty of time.’

  But I haven’t, thought Jake drily, regarding the girl through exasperated eyes. She was certainly Isobel’s daughter, he reflected, noticing the way she sat with her back straight, her knees demurely drawn together. Or perhaps that was a result of her grandmother’s teaching. The old lady had certainly influenced Isobel. Why shouldn’t she influence her granddaughter, too?

  At least his scrutiny appeared to be getting through to her. She was still wearing the grey skirt, white blouse and dark green c
ardigan she wore for school, and now she averted her eyes, poking a finger through one of the buttonholes on the cardigan. Was she nervous of him? he wondered, feeling a reluctant trace of sympathy at the thought. Dammit, what lies had Isobel told her about him?

  ‘So,’ he said, feeling obliged to say something, ‘what’s wrong with your grandma?’

  ‘Granny’s not well,’ she repeated, not too nervous to take the opportunity to correct him. ‘I told you that.’

  ‘Yeah, but what’s wrong with her?’ asked Jake shortly. ‘Do you know?’

  Emily compressed her small mouth. ‘I think—I think it’s something to do with her heart,’ she responded at last. Then, with more confidence, ‘She had an operation last year.’

  ‘Did she?’

  Jake frowned. Isobel had told him nothing about that. But then, why would she? They hardly ever saw one another these days.

  ‘You don’t like Granny, do you?’ Emily remarked suddenly, and Jake caught his breath.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You don’t like Granny,’ Emily reiterated blandly. ‘She says you never did.’

  ‘Does she?’ Jake was aware of an anger out of all proportion to the offence. ‘Well, she’d know, I suppose.’

  ‘Why?’ Emily arched enquiring eyebrows and Jake sighed.

  ‘I guess because she never liked me,’ he replied after a moment’s consideration. Why shouldn’t he defend himself? The old girl had had it her own way long enough. ‘I dare say she didn’t tell you that.’

  ‘No.’ Emily looked doubtful. ‘Is that why you don’t live with us any more?’

  ‘No!’ Jake knew he sounded resentful and he quickly modified his tone. ‘Look, why don’t you go and watch TV or something? I’ve got some calls to make.’

  Emily frowned. ‘What calls?’

  ‘Phone calls,’ said Jake shortly, getting to his feet and pulling his cellphone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Do you mind?’