Guilty Page 7

  Jess Turner, a friend from her college days, rang on Friday evening. Jess was married, and lived in Durham these days, but the two women still kept in touch.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to meet me for lunch tomorrow,’ Jess suggested, after they had exchanged greetings. ‘I’m going shopping in Newcastle, and I hoped you might like to join me.’

  ‘Well—–’ Laura had planned to start on the garden the following day, but Jess was very persuasive.

  ‘Do come,’ she urged. ‘It’s ages since I’ve seen you. And—well, I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘Oh—all right.’ Laura gave in, mentally resigning her plans to weed out the winter’s casualties for another week. It wasn’t as if she was really in the mood for gardening, and Jess was such an undemanding companion.

  They arranged to meet at Grey’s Monument at half-past twelve on Saturday, and Laura spent the rest of the evening wondering what Jess had to tell her. Perhaps she and Clive were moving again, she considered pensively. As Clive was in the police force, it seemed the likeliest option.

  When she went to bed, Laura hesitated a moment, and then went into the spare bedroom. She hadn’t been into the bedroom since the morning of Jake’s departure, when she had stripped the sheets he had used from the bed. It hadn’t been a conscious avoidance, she told herself now. Just a lack of necessity to go in there. Nevertheless, she recoiled from the faint aroma of the shaving lotion he had used, though its fragrance lingered in her nostrils, long after she had closed the door.

  On Saturday morning, she spent some time deciding what she was going to wear. Jess would probably expect her to turn up in jeans and a sweater, but Laura felt like dressing up, for a change. It wasn’t as if she had that many opportunities to do so, she thought defensively, and after last weekend she felt like changing her image.

  It was still too chilly to wear just a suit, and combining her winter coat with a suit would be far too bulky. She could always wear the cream wool dress, with the cowl collar, which she had planned to wear last weekend, she reflected positively. In fact, it might be a good idea to take the opportunity to smarten up her wardrobe. Just because she had a twenty-one-year-old daughter was no reason to behave as if she had one foot in the grave.

  She refused to consider the reasons behind her sudden change of heart. She owed it to herself to dress up sometimes, she told herself firmly. She was still a comparatively young woman. Julie was right. She ought to pay more attention to her appearance.

  Nevertheless, when she viewed her reflection in the mirror of the wardrobe some time later, she did have reservations. She looked smarter, it was true, but what was Jess going to think when she saw her? It was so long since she had worn dark, filmy stockings, and three-inch heels, in the daytime. And the soft folds of the woollen dress emphasised a figure she had long since ceased to admire. Breasts were not fashionable any more—particularly rather generous ones that swelled above a narrow waist.

  She turned sideways, sucking in her stomach, and then allowed it to relax again. What was she doing, for heaven’s sake? she asked herself irritably. She was too old to start fretting about her shape. She had lived with it for thirty-eight years, and there wasn’t much she could do about it now.

  The doorbell rang as she was stroking mascara on to the tawny tips of her lashes. The unexpected sound caused her hand to slip, and she only just managed to prevent the stuff from smearing her cheek. Lowering the brush to the dressing-table, she glanced impatiently towards the window. Who could it be? she wondered, frowning. It was barely ten o’clock.

  Shaking her head, she cast one final look at her appearance, before going downstairs. Whoever it was was going to get a surprise when they saw her. This was definitely not the usual way she dressed on Saturday mornings.

  She paused at the foot of the stairs, ran smoothing fingers over her skirt, and opened the door. Then, she almost collapsed on the spot. A man was standing on the step outside, his broad shoulders successfully blocking her view of the road. He was tall, and lean—and distractingly familiar, and her jaw sagged helplessly, as her eyes met his.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, and she thought he sounded rather tense. ‘May I come in?’

  Laura caught her breath. ‘I—–’ She looked beyond him. ‘Is Julie with you?’

  Jake shook his head, and her heart flipped. ‘She’s not—I mean nothing’s happened—–?’

  ‘Julie’s fine,’ returned Jake evenly. ‘As far as I know, that is. I came alone.’

  ‘You did?’ Laura swallowed. She had the distinct feeling she was imagining this. Jake couldn’t be here. He was in London, or Italy, or some other place. But not here. Not in Burnfoot. Not at her door!

  ‘So—may I come in?’ he asked again, and although she wasn’t sure it was exactly wise, she stepped aside.

  He looked tired, she thought, reluctantly closing the door, and following him into the living-room. There was at least one night’s growth of beard on his chin, and his eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. If she didn’t know better, she would have said he looked like a man who had spent the night sleeping rough, and even the jacket of the dark suit he was wearing had creases across the back.

  She paused just inside the doorway, linking her fingers together, and regarding him warily. She couldn’t think of any reason he might be here, unless he and Julie had had a row. That was possible, of course, but why would he come to her? What could she possibly do to help him?

  Jake halted in front of the hearth. As she was going out, Laura hadn’t lit the fire; but the heating system was working, and the room was pleasantly warm, even so. However, it wasn’t particularly tidy. The exercise books Laura had been working on the night before, were tipped in a haphazard pile beside her chair, and various items of clothing, awaiting ironing, were draped over the back of one of the dining chairs.

  Oh, well, she thought impatiently, she hadn’t been expecting a visitor, particularly not a visitor who was used to much grander surroundings than these. And if he didn’t like it, no one was asking him to stay. To stay…

  ‘You look nice.’

  His words took her by surprise, and Laura gazed at him blankly for a few moments, before gathering her scattered wits. ‘Thank you. But—–’

  ‘Are you going out?’

  Laura moistened her lips. ‘I—yes. Yes, I am, as it happens.’ She took a steadying breath. ‘Look—what’s going on, Mr Lombardi? Why have you come here? I should warn you, if it’s anything to do with Julie—–’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘It isn’t?’ Laura released her fingers, to press her palms together, and realised they were sticky. ‘I—but—it must be.’

  ‘Why must it be?’

  Laura’s lips flattened against her teeth. ‘Don’t you ever answer a question?’ she exclaimed. ‘I want to know what’s happened. Have—have you and Julie had a row?’

  ‘No.’ Jake pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and as he did so his jacket fell open, revealing a bloody stain on the shirt beneath.

  Laura gasped, and pressed her fingers to her lips, and Jake, realising what she had seen, pulled one hand out of his pocket to finger the ugly discolouration of the cloth. ‘A small accident,’ he said, his lips twisting cynically. ‘I don’t think I’ll die of it, do you?’

  Laura stared at him disbelievingly. ‘You—cut yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t say that exactly.’ Jake glanced behind him at the armchair. ‘D’you mind if I sit down? I appear to have lost my balance.’

  He sank down into the chair, as Laura rushed across the room towards him. He had gone so pale suddenly that she was half afraid he was going to lose consciousness as well. He must have lost a lot of blood, she thought, halting nervously beside the chair. But why was he here? What was going on?

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, sinking back against the cushions, and gazing up at her through the thick veil of his lashes. ‘Sorry about that. I guess I’m not as tough as I thought I was.’

  Laura
hesitated a moment longer, and then came down on her haunches beside him. ‘Do you—would you like me to—to look at it?’ she ventured, and his lips twitched with a trace of humour.

  ‘Look at what?’ he countered lazily, and she tore her eyes from the revealing tautness of cloth across his crotch.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she declared, getting swiftly to her feet again. ‘You’re evidently hurt. I might be able to help you.’

  ‘OK.’ Jake tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, and unfastened the first couple of buttons. ‘Go ahead.’

  Laura didn’t want to touch him. Just being near him like this was nerve-racking enough, without having to look at his bare flesh. It reminded her too much of the way she had pictured him, lying in her spare bed upstairs. He was so disturbingly male, and she simply wasn’t equipped to deal with it.

  Nevertheless, as she drew his silk shirt aside to reveal the brown flesh of his midriff, her reticence was quickly overtaken by concern. He had a gash, some three inches in length, and perhaps a quarter as deep, just below the curve of his rib-cage. Someone had endeavoured—not very successfully—to close the wound with adhesive sutures, but it had opened again, and was now bleeding fitfully.

  Laura knew a momentary sense of panic, and then, determinedly quelling the feeling of sickness that had risen inside her, she lifted her eyes to his pale face. ‘Who did this?’ she exclaimed, forcing herself to speak levelly. ‘Was there a fight? Is that how it happened? If so—–’

  ‘It was my fault,’ Jake interrupted her wearily. ‘It was a fight, but it was perfectly controlled. Or it was supposed to be. I was fencing—you understand? I wasn’t giving my opponent the attention I should. Believe me, the man who did this was more upset than me.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘But—don’t you wear protective clothing for fencing? And aren’t there foils?’

  ‘Very good.’ Jake made a weak attempt to applaud her. ‘Yes, you’re right, of course. One is expected to take precautions. But—I didn’t feel like being careful, and this is the result.’

  Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘You could have been killed!’

  ‘I think not.’ Jake’s lips twisted. ‘Believe it or not, I am usually capable of holding my own, as they say.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘I don’t need a doctor,’ retorted Jake flatly. ‘I’ve just lost a little blood, is all. Doctors ask too many questions. And I was not in the mood to answer them.’

  Laura bit her lip, hard, and then, realising she was wasting time, she turned and hurried into the kitchen. Armed with a bowl of warm water, some antiseptic, and bandages, she returned to the living-room, and knelt down beside his chair.

  ‘I’m afraid this is going to hurt,’ she said, deciding the reasons why—and how—he was here would have to wait for the moment. Somehow she had to stop the bleeding, and then maybe she could persuade him to seek professional help.

  He winced as she drew the gaping sutures away, and at once the wound began to bleed more freely. Her hands were soon wet with his blood, and the knowledge was terrifying. She just hoped she knew what she was doing, and that she wasn’t making it worse.

  ‘You should go to a hospital,’ she protested, pressing a damp cloth against the gash. At least it was clean, she thought unwillingly. If she could bind it tightly enough, he might get away with just a bad headache.

  ‘You’re doing fine,’ he told her, but she could see the beads of perspiration on his forehead. Whatever he said, she knew he must be in a great deal of pain, and that awareness troubled her more than it should.

  ‘You should have had more sense,’ she added crossly, spreading some antiseptic ointment on a gauze dressing, and applying it to the cut. She guessed it must have stung like crazy, but all Jake did was suck in his breath. ‘I suppose what you were doing was illegal. That’s why you didn’t want to call a doctor.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Jake’s response was barely audible, and, although she knew he needed to rest, Laura steeled her emotions, and said, ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to sit up.’

  ‘Sit up?’ Jake looked a bit sick at the prospect, but he pushed his hands down on the arms of the chair, and propelled himself forward. ‘OK.’

  ‘You’ll have to take off your jacket—and your shirt,’ murmured Laura awkwardly, wishing she was not so aware of him as a man. He was her daughter’s property, she kept telling herself. Apart from anything else, he was too young for her. But it didn’t help, and her breathing was as shallow as his as she watched him struggling to take off his jacket.

  Of course, she had to help. Even coping with the knot of his tie exhausted him, and she was forced to remove his jacket, and unfasten the remaining buttons of his shirt. His skin was clammy. The result of her inexpert ministrations, she guessed. No matter how successful he was at hiding his feelings, he couldn’t hide the reactions of his body.

  But it made it a little easier for her. However, although the room was warm, while he was sweating he could easily catch a chill, and she applied the length of bandage with a swift and—she hoped—impersonal efficiency. The fact that his skin was smooth, with ridges of corded muscle beneath the flesh, and an arrowing of fine dark hair that disappeared below the waistband of his trousers, were passing observations. Nevertheless, she couldn’t fail to notice how white the bandage looked against his dark skin, or help her own response to his potent sexuality.

  Leaving him to put his shirt on again, as best he could, Laura carried the dish, and the dressings she had used, back into the kitchen. She tipped the bloodstained water into the sink, and watched as it curled away, out of sight. It looked worse than it was, she reassured herself, but even so, he was lucky to have reached the cottage without passing out. But how had he reached the cottage? she wondered, gnawing at her lower lip. And why had he come here? Dear God, what was Julie going to say when she found out where he’d been?

  She pushed herself away from the sink, and looked around. Tea, she thought practically, refusing to consider Julie’s feelings at this moment. Hot, sweet tea! Wasn’t that what they always gave you in hospital? Something to warm you, and give you energy, all at the same time.

  She filled the kettle, and plugged it in, and then faltered again, unsure of how to continue. Was he fit to answer questions now? she pondered uneasily. Was he fit to leave, without seeing a doctor? And could she turn him out, if he wanted to stay?

  But, of course, he didn’t want to stay, she told herself impatiently, marching to the door of the living-room, and then halting, her fingers clenching and unclenching frustratedly. Her questions were going to have to wait. Jake was asleep.

  Or was he? Anxiety brought her to the side of his chair again, and she bent to listen to his breathing. How would she know if he was unconscious? she fretted. It wasn’t as if she had any experience in these matters.

  But he seemed to be sleeping. And he had managed to put on his shirt again, although it was just dragged across his chest, and no attempt had been made to fasten the buttons. Even so, she thought he looked a little better. There was the faintest trace of colour in his cheeks, and, with his eyes closed, their hollowness seemed less pronounced. Instead, his lashes lay like sooty fans above his cheekbones, and she knew an unholy desire to reach out and touch their softness with the tips of her fingers…

  It was enough to set her back several paces. Dear lord, she thought, aghast, what on earth was she thinking of? She was behaving as if she had never seen a man sleeping before. How amused he would be, if he opened his eyes and saw her.

  Swallowing her impatience, she strode across the room, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. There were blankets, stored in the cedarwood ottoman at the foot of her bed, and, pulling out the largest, she carried it downstairs again. Then, trying not to inhale the pungent scent of sweat that still lingered on his body, she eased the blanket up to his chin. At least, it wouldn’t be her fault if he caught a chill,
she thought resentfully. She could do without that on her conscience as well.

  The kettle was boiling, and, giving him one last, uneasy look, Laura went into the kitchen to turn it off. There was no point in making any tea yet, she reflected ruefully. He could sleep for an hour or more, and she might have to provide him with lunch. Lunch…

  She cast a horrified look at her watch. It was after eleven o’clock already, and although she was not meeting Jess until half-past twelve, she had planned to give herself plenty of time to find somewhere to park. It wasn’t always easy on Saturdays, and the traffic into the city was always heavy.

  She groaned. What was she going to do? There was no point in phoning Jess’s home. Her husband was unlikely to be there, and besides, Jess had said she was planning to make a day of it. There was no way she could let her friend know what had happened—even if she wanted to.

  Even if she wanted to? The ambiguity of that statement caused another crisis of conscience. Of course, she wanted to tell Jess what had happened. She couldn’t leave her friend, waiting around, not knowing what was going on. Why shouldn’t she tell her? What did she have to hide?

  What indeed? Laura gazed blankly through the window, into the back garden of the cottage. What was she afraid of? That Jess might suspect Jake had come here, because of something she had done—or said? That she might suspect Laura was attracted to the man? A man who was obviously years younger than she was?

  Of course. She had her pride, just like anyone else, and Jake’s appearance had put her in an invidious position. What could she tell anyone? How could he have done it?

  Gripping the edge of the formica-topped work unit, Laura struggled to find some perspective in this. Jake must have had some other reason for coming to this part of the country, she decided. Julie had said his family was in business, hadn’t she? And everyone knew that the north-east of England was an enterprise zone. He had probably come to finalise some business deal, and, because she was in the area, he had decided to look her up.