Guilty Page 6

Friends! Laura swallowed. Was that what all this was about? She shook her head. God, she had to get a hold on herself.

  ‘Please,’ she said unsteadily, ‘if—if you’ll just let go of my wrist, perhaps we can talk about this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’ Laura was confused, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes fixed on the hair-darkened V of his sweater.

  ‘Why must I let go of you before we can talk?’ he replied, his thumb moving almost reflexively against the fine network of veins on the inner side of her wrist, and Laura shuddered.

  ‘I don’t think you need me to tell you that,’ she retorted, snatching her wrist out of his grasp, and putting the width of the table between them. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Mr Lombardi—–’

  ‘Jake,’ he corrected, and then, on a harder note, ‘Perhaps I’m just trying to find out what makes you tick, Ms Fox!’

  Laura expelled her breath in a rush. ‘I think—I think you’re trying to make a fool of me, Mr Lombardi,’ she declared, rubbing her wrist with a nervous hand. ‘Perhaps it amuses you to make fun of older women; to play games behind Julie’s back. Well, I don’t like it. I may seem very old-fashioned to you, but that’s the way I am. Now—if you don’t mind—–’

  ‘Or even if I do, hmm?’ he suggested, in a dangerously bland tone. ‘I’m not a boy, Laura. And you’re not a grandmother—yet. Even if you do insist on acting like one.’

  She had no answer to that. She was hurt. She didn’t want to be; she ought not to be; but she was. His harsh words had bared her soul, and it took all her composure to gather up the bread from the table, and spread the cloth.

  By the time she had set out plates and cutlery, spooned coffee into the filter and set it to perc, she had herself in control enough to ask, albeit tensely, ‘What can I get you for breakfast? Would you like orange juice, or a cereal? Bacon? Eggs?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  Straightening from the lounging position he had adopted, while he’d watched her preparations for the meal, he walked to the living-room door.

  ‘Nothing?’

  The anxiety in Laura’s voice was evident, but he was not disposed to humour her. ‘I’m going out,’ he told her, sauntering across the living-room and into the hall, where he had hung his leather jerkin. He appeared briefly in the living-room doorway again, as he shrugged the jacket over his shoulders. ‘Tell Julie, if she manages to regain consciousness before I come back, I’ll see her later.’

  ‘But—–’

  Laura pressed her hands together helplessly, but Jake didn’t show any sympathy. ‘No buts, Laura,’ he essayed smoothly. ‘Later, right?’ and a moment later the front door slammed behind him.

  Julie eventually put in an appearance at half-past ten. She came trailing down the stairs, wearing only the satin nightshirt she had worn to sleep in, her bright hair finger-combed, but appealing. She came into the kitchen, where Laura was making a dogged effort to mix pastry, her bare toes curling on the tiled floor.

  ‘Hi,’ she said sleepily, sinking down into a chair at the table. ‘Is there any coffee?’

  ‘In the jug,’ Laura pointed, her hands caked with flour and water. However, when her daughter made no attempt to help herself, she dipped her hands into the bowl of soapy water she had ready, and rinsed them clean. ‘There you are,’ she said, setting a cup of the dark beverage on the table, and pushing the cream jug within reach. ‘It’s been made about half an hour, but it shouldn’t be too bad.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Julie reached for the cup and savoured its contents, before adding only the minutest touch of cream. ‘Hmm, I needed this,’ she added, swallowing a mouthful. ‘Where’s Jake?’

  Laura turned back to her pastry-making. ‘I—he’s gone for a walk,’ she said, over her shoulder, calculating that it was a fairly reasonable conclusion. He hadn’t taken his car, and she didn’t think he was likely to have walked to the crossroads, and picked up the local bus service.

  ‘God!’ Julie sounded disgusted. ‘What time did he go out?’

  ‘Oh—early,’ replied Laura, flouring the board rather more liberally than was necessary. ‘I—suppose he was bored. There’s not much to do around here, as you know.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Julie assented. ‘I suppose he was up early, too. When he’s at home, I believe he likes to go riding before breakfast. Can you believe that? Leaving a perfectly good bed, to go hacking about the countryside, before it’s barely light!’

  Laura peeled the pastry off the rolling-pin, and wondered if she could make do with omelettes for lunch. The quiches she had intended to make were proving more of a liability than she had expected, and the cool hands she needed were continually letting her down.

  ‘Do—er—do you want something to eat?’ she asked now, hoping to divert the conversation into other channels, but Julie shook her head.

  ‘Just another cup of coffee will do,’ she said, giving her mother a wheedling look. ‘Get it for me, will you Mum? I don’t think I have the strength right now to get up from this chair.’

  Laura resignedly rinsed her hands again, and refilled Julie’s cup, before rolling the unfortunate pastry into a ball, and depositing it in the waste-bin. So much for home cooking, she thought bitterly. Perhaps she could get some ready-made quiches from Mr Harris.

  Julie watched her with some surprise, and then sniffed. ‘Have you been making bread?’ she asked, frowning. ‘It smells delici—–’

  ‘No,’ Laura broke in, before Julie could pay her any unwarranted compliments. ‘Your—that is—Mr Lombardi got some fresh bread from the bakery. That’s what you can smell.’

  ‘Really?’ Julie grimaced. ‘Before breakfast?’

  ‘I—yes.’ Laura couldn’t bring herself to say that Jake hadn’t had breakfast. ‘D’you want some?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Julie was tempted. ‘I guess he was afraid you were going to offer him sliced bread. Italians like their bread fresh every morning.’

  ‘Yes.’ Laura had heard enough of what one particular Italian liked for one day. ‘Well, now, are you going to get dressed?’

  ‘Did Jake say where he was going?’ Julie persisted, ignoring her mother’s enquiry. ‘How long has he been gone?’

  ‘Oh—–’ Laura made a display of looking at her watch, although she knew exactly how long he had been gone ‘—about—a couple of hours, I suppose.’

  ‘A couple of hours!’ Julie was aghast. ‘D’you think he’s got lost?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Laura expunged a little of her frustration by scraping the remainder of the pastry from the board. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who wouldn’t know exactly what he was doing.’

  ‘No?’ Julie gave her mother a quizzical look. ‘That was said with some feeling. What’s wrong? Has he been rubbing you up the wrong way?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Laura was cross with herself for allowing Julie to even suspect how she was feeling. ‘I just meant—he seems—very capable.’

  ‘Oh, he is.’ Julie cupped her chin in her hands, and sighed rather smugly. ‘Believe me, he is.’

  Laura lifted the board to put it into the sink, but a combination of its slippery surface, and her own unsteady hands, caused it to fall heavily against the taps, and Julie’s attention was diverted again.

  ‘I thought you were baking.’

  ‘I was.’ Laura struggled to keep the resentment out of her voice. ‘But I changed my mind.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ Laura cast her daughter a half-impatient glance. ‘Oh—no reason. I’m just not in the mood, after all.’

  ‘Are you sure you and Jake haven’t had a fight?’ Julie was curious. ‘It’s not like you to waste perfectly good flour and water.’

  Laura sighed. ‘Don’t be silly, Julie!’ she exclaimed shortly. ‘I barely know the man. What could he and I have had a fight about?’

  ‘Me,’ said Julie simply, and Laura’s jaw sagged.

  The realisation that her daughter’s
interpretation of the facts was perfectly reasonable stopped Laura in her tracks. It hadn’t occurred to her that Julie might see herself as the only possible reason for her mother and her boyfriend to have words, and, although it wasn’t right, it was vaguely reassuring. Of course, Julie would never think that Jake and her mother might have had a more personal exchange, Laura thought, with some relief. So far as Julie was concerned, such an idea was ludicrous.

  ‘Well—no,’ she said now. ‘Really. If—if I seem on edge, it’s probably just the time of the month. Anyway,’ she added, realising it was probably less suspicious to talk about Jake, than to avoid doing so, ‘you didn’t tell me he has a family.’

  ‘I did.’ Julie frowned. ‘I told you we met at that charity bash his mother had organised.’

  ‘I don’t mean his parents,’ replied Laura evenly. ‘I meant his daughter.’

  ‘Oh—Luci!’ Julie pulled a face. ‘He’s told you about her, has he?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  Julie shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘So, if you marry—Jake, you’ll have a ready-made daughter.’

  ‘Stepdaughter,’ amended Julie shortly, her expression losing some of its complacency. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t intend to see a lot of her. She’s a bore!’

  Laura turned to look at her. ‘But she is his daughter. You can’t expect him to ignore his responsibilities.’

  ‘You know nothing about it,’ retorted Julie rudely. ‘In any case, she’s at school in Rome. She lives with Jake’s parents in term-time.’

  ‘But I thought—that is…’ Laura moistened her lips before continuing, ‘I understood—his parents lived in Tuscany.’

  Julie’s eyes grew thoughtful. ‘Did you?’ She paused. ‘We have been having a heart-to-heart, haven’t we? Has he told you about Castellombardi, too?’

  Laura frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Castel—that means castle, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Julie was offhand. ‘It’s also the name of the village where the house is situated. As for its being a castle—I don’t think it’s any more than a rather large country house. Old, of course. And probably draughty. Though Jake did say his grandfather had spent a lot of money restoring it.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Not that we’ll live there,’ went on Julie carelessly. ‘Jake has homes all over the place. Rome; Viareggio; Paris!’ She sighed. ‘And, of course, the Lombardis have an apartment in London.’

  ‘Really?’ Laura put the baking board away and dried her hands. ‘And—and when is all this going to take place?’

  ‘Our getting married, you mean?’ Julie lifted her shoulders in a considering gesture. ‘I’m not sure. Has he said anything to you?’

  ‘To me?’ Laura was taken aback, but Julie nodded.

  ‘Yes. To you,’ she repeated. ‘I assumed your little tête-à-tête was Jake’s way of letting you know he was able to keep me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed.’ Her lips twitched. ‘I wish!’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Well—no. I mean, we did talk about you, of course, but—but—–’

  ‘You didn’t ask him what his intentions were,’ finished Julie shortly. ‘I should have known.’

  ‘Now, come on.’ Laura had had quite enough of being accused of things she wasn’t responsible for this morning. ‘You can’t expect me to ask questions like that!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ Laura gasped. ‘Julie, you know him better than I do, for God’s sake! If you don’t know what he thinks, who does?’

  Julie looked sulky. ‘He wanted to come here. Not me.’

  ‘I know that.’ Laura did her best to ride the pain of her daughter’s indifference. ‘Nevertheless it’s up to—to him to speak to me. Not the other way about.’

  Julie hunched her shoulders. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’ Laura took a steadying breath. ‘And now, I suggest you go and get dressed, before—before Jake comes back. He may want you to go for a drive or something. You could go to Alnwick, or Bamborough. And I’m sure he’d like to see the Roman wall. Or—you could always go into Newcastle. It’s busy on Saturdays, but it’s better than hanging about here.’

  Julie sniffed. ‘Didn’t he say what time he’d be back?’

  ‘No.’ Laura picked up her daughter’s empty cup and carried it to the sink. ‘But I’m sure he won’t be much longer.’ She paused to gather her composure, and then added, ‘After all, there isn’t much to see around here.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Julie seemed to accept this, and to her mother’s relief she pushed herself to her feet. Laura waited until she had gone upstairs, before sinking weakly into the chair her daughter had vacated. Lord, she thought wearily, running her hand over her head, and then allowing it to rest at her nape. This was going to be the longest weekend of her life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘DID you have a nice weekend?’

  Mark caught Laura as she was going into the school on Monday morning, and she was forced to turn and speak to him.

  ‘Um—very nice, actually,’ she lied, unprepared to confide her deeper fears in him. ‘Did you?’

  Mark frowned. ‘It was all right, I suppose. I had the car serviced on Saturday morning, and on Sunday I took Mother over to a friend’s in Carlisle. Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid.’

  Laura forced a smile. ‘Oh, well—–’

  ‘Did you?’

  She looked confused. ‘Did I what?’

  ‘Do anything exciting?’ prompted Mark impatiently. ‘What was this boyfriend of Julie’s like? I expect she let you run around after her, as usual.’

  ‘That’s none of your business, Mark,’ returned Laura icily, glad of a reason to break off the conversation. She thrust open the glass door. ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Aw, Laura…’

  Mark came after her, but she ignored him, and as they caught up with one of the other teachers in the corridor there was no further chance for him to try and redeem himself. The staff-room, where all the teachers gathered, was not the place to try and have a private conversation, and Laura made certain they didn’t leave together.

  But, later on in the morning, when she had a free period, Laura couldn’t prevent thoughts of the weekend from impinging on the English papers she was marking. She knew it would be a while before she could put what had happened out of her mind. It was all very well dismissing Mark’s comments with a terse rejoinder. She couldn’t dismiss the things Jake had said with quite the same detachment.

  Not that he had said much more to her, after he’d returned from his walk on Saturday morning. To her relief, he had confined his attentions to Julie. And if her daughter thought there was anything strange about his attitude towards her mother, she was too wrapped up in her own affairs to attribute it any consequence.

  Besides, Laura thought ruefully, Julie was unlikely to entertain any worries about Jake’s relationship with her mother. It simply wouldn’t occur to Julie that there could be any personal contact between them. And there hadn’t been, really, Laura reminded herself severely. Just a silly misunderstanding that had alienated them both.

  She refused to dwell too long on what Jake might have meant by the things he had said. As she had said to him, she wasn’t used to his kind of word games. And not just word games, she appended doggedly. He had played with her emotions, and made her look a fool.

  Or, at least, he had tried to, she thought defensively. She didn’t think she had left him in any doubts as to her disdain for his promiscuity. The way he had behaved the rest of the weekend proved he hadn’t liked her lack of response. He had been polite—just—but there had been no further attempts to disconcert her.

  Of course, she hadn’t seen a lot of them really. By the time Jake came back from his walk, Julie had been ready and waiting. And if she hadn’t got her own way about going shopping in Newcastle, because Jake wanted to see the Roman remains, the result was the same as far as Laura was concerned. They were out for the rest of the day.


  Dinner on Saturday evening had been rather fraught, Laura remembered now. She had gathered the outing hadn’t been an unqualified success, and none of them had done justice to the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding she had so painstakingly prepared. But at least she had been left to do the dishes in peace, and afterwards she had excused herself on the pretext of having lessons to prepare. There had been no objections; indeed, she was aware that Julie had welcomed her departure, and, if Laura had found herself speculating over what might be going on in her living-room, she had resisted the temptation to find out. The less she and Jake Lombardi had to do with one another, the better, she had decided grimly. He was not at all the kind of prospective son-in-law she had anticipated.

  They had left Burnfoot the following morning. Laura had waved them off in the low, powerful sports car, that had probably attracted quite a bit of interest in the village. It was not unusual to see the odd Mercedes or BMW gliding along the High Street, and old Colonel Renfrew had an ancient Rolls-Royce. But Lamborghinis were something else again, and she was quite sure she would have to face a few pointed questions, next time she went into the village stores.

  Still, she was unlikely to see either of them again for quite some time, she consoled herself, trying to concentrate on her fourth-years’ interpretation of the The Merchant of Venice. Julie had made the usual promises that she would see her soon, and so on, but Laura privately suspected that once her daughter was married, she would see even less of her than she did now.

  She shook her head, trying not to let it bother her. After all, it wasn’t a new phenomenon. She should have learned to live with it by now. She and Julie were simply not compatible, and there was no point in blaming herself for a situation over which she had no control.

  The next few days were uneventful. Mark made his peace with her, catching her in the school car park one evening, and apologising for what he had said. But, although Laura accepted his apology, she didn’t accept his invitation to dinner the following weekend.

  ‘Ask me next week,’ she told him, pleasantly enough, so he would know it wasn’t his fault she was turning him down. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She just couldn’t cope with Mark’s pedantic company at the moment.