Sinful Truths. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      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 cardigan 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 СКАЧАТЬ