Chapter Fifteen
“PUM”
I have the flakiest friends in the world: an A&E nurse who can’t keep time to save her soul and a Christian minister who can’t keep a date to save his life. It was the weekend following Les Miserables and Tarzan had texted me, cancelling our night out in the West End.
Salsa dancing had replaced my craving for drugs. Well, not really. Who was I kidding? But I figured if I said it often enough then one day it would be true. Unfortunately, one of Tarzan’s young addict parishioners had OD’d and he’d be spending the night at the hospital, praying and comforting the family. I shuddered and sent the poor kid my best wishes.
I pouted at my phone, trying to decide whether to finish reading Wild West Succubus or head to the salsa club anyway. No matter how much I tried not to think about James wining and dining Vanessa, kissing her and taking her to bed, the image of them together kept intruding on my thoughts. As did the memory of his arms around me as we danced, his teasing voice as he wiped the chocolate from my face and his aloofness since then.
I’d been doing a lot of thinking since that night at the theatre. Instead of concentrating on my pain or my desires, I thought about Ryan’s needs. I wanted to be in his life for his sake now, more than my own. That his heart could be damaged by not knowing me gave me a new sense of purpose—a selfless one.
James continued to observe me with the same intensity. His sharp looks seeped into my body like a fever and I needed to break it, shake it and fling it loose. Salsa dancing would have done the trick, I thought sourly.
I couldn’t muster my joie de dance so I settled down to read whether Paprika was going to add another stud to her corral. A few minutes later Marcia came home from a birthday party with Fleur Anise and stood in my doorway. Frowning, she held out a yellow sticky note as if it was her last pound coin and she was being forced to drop it into the collection plate.
“L’Amuse Bouche called while you were out shopping this morning,” she said. “One of their waitresses came down with a bug and they want to know if you can silver service tonight.”
Extra money is always welcome so I tugged the sticky note from her grasp and tried to read it. Jesus, they say doctors’ handwriting is bad but a nurse’s isn’t much better. I deciphered Marcia’s spiderlike scrawl and my restless mood disappeared. 60th birthday bash, Matham Manor, Hampstead.
“Brilliant.”
“Don’t do it.”
“Francesca’s had my drug test results for ages,” I said, opening my top drawer. “I’ve kept to my end of the bargain and she’s done nothing to help me. It’s time to remind Franny dearest of her promise.”
“Be patient, hon.”
I snorted. Patience has passed me by and I’ve learned to live without it. It’s not as though I can pick some up on eBay or add it to my Christmas wish list. I rooted around for a pair of black tights with no ladders in them.
“Tarzan is always saying things happen for a reason and this is the perfect example. The next time I see him I’m going to thank him because—Hey, I need to borrow your black dress—the boring one with the long zipper down the front.”
Marcia stopped pacing. “Have you forgotten your little restraining order problem?”
Oh, yeah. “Where’s my wig?”
Marcia glared at me. “Francesca’s sixtieth is hardly the right time to approach her about Ryan.”
I slammed my drawer shut. “There’ll never be a right time, not at this rate. Seeing as Francesca won’t come to Paisley, it’s time for Paisley to go to the manor.”
“If you get caught you’ll be sorry.”
“I won’t get caught.”
I hope, I added mentally. If James saw me it would mean handcuffs, and not the pink fluffy kind. He might have danced and chatted with me at Mr Lemane’s party, but I was under no illusions about what he’d do if he caught me trespassing.
* * *
Two hours later I was being ushered through the gates of Matham Manor with the other silver servers, Marcia’s black dress on my frame and a short black pageboy wig covering my hair. We entered through the service door and studied the floor plan so we wouldn’t get lost. The party was being held in the ballroom and the necessary route wove through several corridors.
I volunteered for kitchen duty, arranging the hors d’oeuvres on the plates like a good worker bee. When one of the other waiters commented on the number of people in the ballroom I knew it was time to hit the party. I straightened my dress, checked my wig, consulted the map and picked up a tray of pastry rolls stuffed with crabmeat.
As I walked through the spacious corridors and formal, stilted rooms I couldn’t help picturing James, sitting in the overstuffed armchair I’d passed or looking out at the park through the elegant Georgian windows.
I paused to peek into the dining room. How did James manage to speak to Francesca if they sat at either end of a thirty-foot table? Maybe the butler passed their notes to each other between serving courses. I imagined Ryan relaying messages so they could play Chinese whispers and chuckled.
Blue bloods.
The ballroom was akin to something out of a Cinderella film. It had a high ceiling with intricate cornices and a shiny parquet floor. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the windows were lavishly draped in midnight-blue silk curtains. The guests wore long gowns and tuxedos, chatting to the subtle sounds of bossa nova, played by a live band.
I hated to admit it but Marcia was right. There were so many people it was hard to find Francesca. My plan was to offer her my canapés and then convince her to slip away somewhere and talk. Failing that I would resort to “fling the food,” a method suggested by Fleur Anise, whereby the contents of my tray would end up on Francesca’s clothing, forcing her to leave the party and clean up.
When I saw James my hands jolted so hard I almost flung the food on the elderly lady who’d accepted a crab roll. Stunning was the word that came to mind. Edible was another. The black tuxedo set off his Mediterranean skin tone, black hair and green eyes to perfection.
James chatted to a middle-aged couple, a glass of red wine in his hand and a smile on his face. A man relaxed and totally at ease. A novel look for him. I forgot my mission entirely, mesmerised by the air of sensuality he exuded.
James turned his head and—Crap! I hid my face, headed straight to a cluster of guests opposite and practically forced my canapés on them. After that I made sure to circulate in the opposite direction, keeping James in my peripheral vision at all times. By the time my tray was empty I hadn’t managed to speak to Francesca, but I told myself not to worry. There was plenty of time to find her.
I’d gone to get another tray and was heading back to the party when I saw Ryan. We were alone in the corridor and he was in SpongeBob SquarePants pyjamas, hiding behind a grandfather clock. He must have been peeking at us silver servers, unobserved, as we passed with our trays. When he saw that I’d spotted him he ran off.
“Wait,” I cried, then clamped a hand over my mouth.
He stopped and looked back at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
<<You can’t catch me.>>
My response was instinctive. <<You wanna bet?>>
His eyes widened and then he giggled and sped off. As for me, well, I was shell—shocked. Seeing my son not five feet away from me after seven years was stupefying, but mental chit-chat? I glanced towards the party, unsure of my next move. I had insinuated myself into James’s workplace, made and kept promises, tried to talk to Francesca, and become a stalker in order to see Ryan. All for nothing.
I should seize my chance and run after my son, but I hesitated because...because...
You’re afraid, my mind supplied.
Ballroom or my son?
I put the tray on the windowsill and chased after Ryan. We ran in and out of rooms, with me “almost” catching him a few times. Then he led me down a corridor and disappeared behind a large oak door. I followed him and stepped into a light and airy self-contained flat, a spacious sitting room furnished with brown leather sofas straight in front. To the left, an open-plan kitchen and marble top breakfast bar and to the right, two shut doors.
Ryan jumped out from behind a sofa and I rushed forward, then put the brakes on hard, stopping myself from squeezing, kissing and holding him in my arms. Inhaling his little boy scent.
Ryan cocked his head. “Why can you talk to me with your eyes? Nobody else can.”
Direct, just like James. “Not your dad?”
He shook his head.
“It’s not a common talent,” I said. “Best not tell people—they don’t understand.”
“Granny doesn’t.”
“Granny?” It was hard to imagine Francesca being given such a warm, loving title. A knot of jealousy formed in my stomach. No doubt she was the one who’d taught him to extend his hand politely.
“I’m Ryan.”
I shook his hand and a tingle went through my palm and straight to my heart. How should I introduce myself? “I’m P...uhm...”
“Pum?” he asked, delighted. “Your name is Pum?”
So Pum I was.
I forced myself to let go of his hand and looked at the classic seascapes on the walls. My mind sang my son, over and over, for once not giving me orders or trying to keep me on the straight and narrow.
“Is this where you live?” I asked, relieved my voice didn’t wobble.
“Me and Dad.” Ryan peered at me, blue eyes wide. “Are you crying?”
I made eye contact. <<It’s hay fever.>>
He shrugged and, in the way that children have, flitted from one topic to the next while, in the way that adults have, I only half listened. I was too busy drinking him in, listening to his voice and memorising it for later. Why hadn’t I kept my mobile in my apron pocket? That way I could have videoed him for a frame by frame replay later.
I followed Ryan as he showed me the flat, pointing to the large plasma television and pulling me to his other favourite object: the freezer side of the silver American-style fridge.
Wow.
James and Ryan weren’t just fans of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, they had shares in the company by the looks of it. I didn’t let Ryan have any though, much as he begged. It was hard to resist his pleas but I distracted him by asking to see his room. It was behind the first shut door. A typical boy’s haven, it was decorated in greens and blues and plastered in posters of sporting heroes. Surprisingly neat.
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Dad makes me tidy up before breakfast and if it’s not done properly I have to do it all over again.”
“It’s neater than my room,” I confessed, peeking into the large en-suite bathroom.
Ryan smiled conspiratorially and opened his top drawer, revealing a stash of London bus sweets. A few empty wrappers stuck out between socks and pants. “If Dad saw this he’d go nuts.”
“He’s a neat freak,” I agreed.
“You know my dad?”
I bit my lip.
“Come see his new Jacuzzi,” Ryan said excitedly. He sped out of his room and into James’s and I followed, shutting the bedroom door behind me.
“Ryan,” I called. “I’ve got to get back.”
“It’ll only take two seconds and then you can go, okay?”
How was I supposed to resist his bright blues a second time? I hesitated just inside the threshold of James’s bedroom and looked around, feeling awkward. The room was masculine and functional, decorated in muted greys and black. He had a king-sized bed with built-in wardrobes to either side and a chest of drawers with a large mirror on top against the opposite wall.
I made a face. From my memory of the bridal suite I knew James liked black, but was this boring or what? Why not add pale blue and bright orange cushions on the bed, or on that leather sofa under the window? Or better yet, a potpourri of vivid greens and scarlet to liven things up? And I would add sumptuous curtains instead of those drab office-style blinds and...
And yourself, naked and waiting in the middle of the bed? my mind taunted.
Oh God, it was time to leave, Jacuzzi or no Jacuzzi. I opened my mouth to call to Ryan and heard muffled voices outside the flat’s door.
“Shinto!”
That was my new substitute swear word and I whispered it frantically under my breath. I killed the bedroom light but I didn’t have time to shut the door all the way, leaving a gap of about two inches. Ryan’s eyes went wide at the sound of James’s voice. He put a finger to his lips and I did the same, as good as a signed contract. We were co-conspirators in the game of hide and hide.
I pointed at the bathroom, signalling for him to turn off the light and stay hidden. He saluted like a soldier and scampered inside. My back hit the nearest wall and I stared into the dark. This was where I kissed my chances with Ryan goodbye forever. They don’t let minors into jail for visits, do they? If James caught me violating the restraining order, and in his bedroom no less...
Panicked sweat pooled under my wig as I listened to the voices in the sitting room.
What the hell?
I would recognise that snobbish, falsely cultured voice anywhere. It was Caroline. I was nonplussed until I remembered she was married to James’s cousin. It was Francesca’s sixtieth birthday party so it made sense she be invited along with the rest of the family.
But why was she here with James?
This warranted risking a peek. I peeled myself off the wall and edged closer to the door, peering through the gap. Caroline and James faced each other in front of the three-seater sofa. James’s expression was wary and Caroline’s looked as coldly beautiful as I remembered, harder, but still poised and classy. Her hairstyle was different though; it was cut man-short, making her look like Annie Lennox. In one hand she held a glass of red wine and she clutched something in the other, but I couldn’t make out what it was.
Caroline surveyed James’s flat like she used to our mother’s kitchen. “You should bring Paisley here,” she said. “She would enjoy a step up from the council flat she probably lives in.”
I whipped my eyes to James. He looked as startled as I was and Caroline...well, she looked as though she was shifting gears, accelerating straight from spiteful cow to vicious bitch. I recognised her attack expression and braced myself.
“Reginald told me Paisley is your new secretary,” she said, dripping disgust. “I see you’re happy to continue your sordid affair with my doppelgänger. She obviously meets your poor professional standards and your vulgar personal tastes.”
James didn’t lose his cool. “Why did you want to talk to me? I’m co-hosting tonight.”
“You’re not even going to deny it, are you?” she said angrily. “You never felt bad about what you did to me. Humiliating me, sleeping with my sister when I thought you were faithful. Making me a laughing stock on my wedding day.”
James’s long sigh sounded resigned. “Of course I did, as I told you many times.”
“You said you wanted Paisley more than you loved me.”
“That is not what I said.”
Oh? Well what the hell had he said? I waited, breath hitched.
Caroline tossed her head back. “I told you how promiscuous Paisley was but you didn’t listen. She slept with anybody who would give her money and then she blackmailed them. She did as much to our uncle Manuel before she was fifteen, luring him into sex with her slutty ways.”
Instant, debilitating shame ploughed through me. I clutched at my abdomen as sharp cramps clenched me tight. I hadn’t thought about Manuel in a long time but now the past flooded back, dark and terrifying. Locked doors and heavy hands on my head, holding me in place. Why had Caroline told James about Manuel? He was the last person I wanted to know about my uncle’s abuse.
I wanted to retreat to a place that didn’t fill me with anguish but couldn’t, so I tied myself to James’s face instead, concentrating all my energy on his strong jaw and wrathful green eyes.
Hold on a second...wrathful?
James’s brows were drawn into a furious V, his fists clenched as if he wanted to punch something. The childish part of me hoped it was Caroline.
“My aunt Isabel almost left Manuel because of Paisley. He was besotted,” Caroline said.
James’s nostrils flared. “Then he’s a pervert who should be locked away.”
Caroline recoiled, suddenly aware that James’s disgust wasn’t directed at me. I shrank back also, surprised at his reaction.
“Never mind that,” Caroline said. “Everybody knew what Paisley was and how she supported herself in London when she ran away. You were just another deluded man in a long, disgusting line of customers who paid for her services. Pathetic, really.”
James’s eyes glinted. “I was Paisley’s first.”
“And you loved telling me how much you’d enjoyed it, didn’t you?” she spat.
“You goaded me into saying it,” he said quietly.
Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Do you realise how humiliated I felt when you couldn’t...perform?”
Huh? My roller coaster ride of emotions swung around another loop. Shame over my past with Manuel was replaced by happiness that James had never slept with Caroline. I still felt queasy though. There really is such a thing as too much information and I wished I didn’t have to hear the sordid details of their honeymoon.
Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to hear everything, the more disastrous the better.
Caroline’s voice shook. “A real man would have been able to make love to his wife. Maybe Reginald is right, the reason you’ve never married again is because you’re in the closet. Either that or you’re impotent.”
“I stopped loving you, and now I’m more selective,” James said simply.
Her mouth thinned into an angry red line. “You betrayed me and I’ll never forgive you.”
“It’s just as well I don’t require your forgiveness to have a happy life.”
“As a single father?” Caroline jeered. “How pitiful. Your life would be different if you had only agreed to the one thing I asked.”
“No, thank you,” James said, a gritty edge to his voice. “Our wedding introduced me to the real Caroline—a woman so consumed by hatred she was incapable of forgiveness or compassion. A woman who’d rather I give up my son for adoption than assume my responsibilities. You weren’t the person I thought you were. You were exactly as Paisley described and I was lucky to realise it, albeit much later than I should have.”
“Paisley, Paisley, Paisley,” Caroline said, making my name sound like a swear word. “You’re forgetting, James, that I’m Lady Scott-Thomas and she’s the same trashy slut she’s always been.”
“Paisley conquered her addictions with no family support,” he said, his defence delivering another shocker. “She’s shown herself to be a responsible and intelligent employee. She works hard, never complains and I can trust her to perform her duties to the highest standard.”
Oh. My. God. Never again would I go anywhere without my damn mobile.
Caroline looked as if she was struggling not to scream. “I know exactly what kind of duties she performs for you.”
“This conversation is over.”
Did she know James was at the end of his tether when his voice was that soft? He took a step towards the door and she stopped him, holding out what looked like a small drawstring pouch.
“I wanted to return the wedding set you gave me,” she said, an imploring note creeping into her voice.
For the barest moment I saw raw, helpless yearning in her eyes. Caroline still loved James! Even after he’d admitted enjoying that night in bed with me. Even after she had married somebody else. Even with two children and a happy life as lady of the manor. She loved the man looking at her so stonily and she always would.
Caroline’s eyes glistened, holding back tears, and I read her thoughts. Hatred warred with love, their soldiers jealousy and regret. She wished she had never argued with him in the pub that night and run off to sulk. She wanted to turn back the clock and do things differently.
Hell, didn’t I wish the same?
The sudden empathy I felt for Caroline was disturbing, but it disappeared when I saw what else she wanted. If she couldn’t have James then she wanted him to stay single—and to stay away from me. Returning the rings was an excuse to speak to him and reassure herself that he and I weren’t together.
James didn’t seem to notice or care that Caroline still had feelings for him. His eyes were on the small pouch and then they were on the front door.
His voice was indifferent. “You designed the rings, go ahead and keep them.”
“Take them,” Caroline said imperiously. “Look at them and remember the woman you could have had.”
James filled the flat with the rich sound of deep, spontaneous laughter. Looking at him I wished yet again that I had my mobile. I would take a photo of his laughing face, blow it up to life-size and cut it out. The next time he scowled at me I would march up to him and blue tack it onto his forehead, pressing hard to make it stick.
What would he say to that?
Attracted by the laughter, Ryan snuck up behind me and peeked through the gap. Still grinning, James bowed to Caroline and took the pouch from her hands.
“Thank you Lady Scott-Thomas. I will put them in pride of place, else I forget.”
For a moment Caroline seemed desolate. Then she flushed scarlet, the colour erupting like small volcanoes on the desert of her face. From deep within her chest came a snarl of rage. Her hand went back but James caught her wrist before she could deliver a blow. She retaliated by flinging her wine at his chest—glass and all.
Caroline’s eyes went wide and she trembled as though she was having a seizure. She took an unsteady step backward and then she turned and fled, banging the door shut behind her. James looked revolted.
“She’s mean,” Ryan said.
James glanced towards our hiding place and I leapt back. Luckily, he didn’t come and investigate. I had his neat freak tendencies to thank for that, but when he finished cleaning up the mess the gig was up.
“Come out of my room, Ry. I know you’re hiding in there.”
He sounded stern, not angry, but that would change as soon as he saw me. I might as well walk out with my wrists crossed and march myself to the police station. Ryan tugged on my dress before I could open the door.
“I won’t tell or you’ll get in trouble too,” he said earnestly.
He ran out of the bedroom and I wrestled with my conscience. Was I going to let my son get told off without owning up to my role in his misbehaviour? James scolded Ryan mildly and I felt better about not showing myself. While he gave him a piggyback ride to his bedroom I considered my options, then stuck my head out and looked towards Ryan’s door.
It was open so I couldn’t chance sneaking out without being seen. My heart was racing but I told myself to calm down, that once James had changed his shirt—
Changed his shirt? my mind screeched, just as Ryan’s light went out.
I leapt away from the door, frantic for a place to hide. Was it a scramble under the bed or a hop into the wardrobe? Wardrobe! My long jump wouldn’t have earned me a medal but it got the job done.
The wardrobe doors had tilted wooden slats that allowed me to see into the bedroom but kept me hidden, or so I hoped. I felt like a criminal. Hell, I was a criminal. “Convict” would now join “drug addict” and “alcoholic” on my CV. Maybe I shouldn’t worry because I’d soon be dead anyway. If James didn’t do it then Marcia would. Or worse, she’d ask Kahlu for a charm and it wouldn’t be sugar she jammed my name into. It would be something acid that melted my skin off while I was still alive.
I was trembling, hyperventilating with what I can only describe as the beginnings of a panic attack. But that was nothing compared to what I felt when James walked into the bedroom, turned on the light and started taking his clothes off.