Sinful Truths

Jake heard the accusation in his voice but couldn’t seem to help it. Right now he wasn’t in the mood for one of Marcie’s famous fits of histrionics. Last night he would have told her what had happened, would have explained about Isobel and Emily—well, some of it anyway. Enough to make her realise that he’d had no choice but to do what he had, that on this occasion Isobel had had to come first. But at this moment he didn’t much care what she believed.

‘You know I wanted you to sound Frank out about the chances of me getting my own show,’ Marcie answered, a predictable tremor in her voice. ‘You knew I couldn’t bring it up myself. I hardly know the Allens. They’re your friends, not mine.’ She paused, and when he didn’t say anything she went on more aggressively, ‘And his wife is such a snob. When I told her what I’d been doing for the past five years her jaw almost dropped through the floor. Supercilious bitch! She made me feel like I was the lowest form of pond life. Like she’d never taken her clothes off to get what she wanted. I tell you, Jake, I’ve had it with women like her. I don’t think they know what century they’re living in. How I stopped myself from pushing her stupid face into the salmon mousse I’ll never know.’

Jake had to smile then. The image of Marcie using strongarm tactics on Virginia Allen was just so ludicrous. Frank’s wife was a lady. Heavens, there’d been occasions when she’d refused to attend one of her husband’s openings because she’d considered it too risqué. He could quite believe she’d been horrified at the news that Marcie had made her living as a photographic model. In her opinion, models—fashion models included—were not much better than paid courtesans.

‘I’d like to have seen that,’ he said now, the humour in his voice unmistakable, and Marcie giggled.

‘You might have, if you’d been there,’ she said tartly, proving that she hadn’t quite forgiven him yet. Then, evidently deciding she ought to quit while she was ahead, she added, ‘So how about joining me for lunch instead? I’ve got some champagne in the fridge I’d intended to open last night. We could see what novel ways we can find to drink it. What do you say, darling? It’s Louis Roederer. Your favourite.’

It was a tempting offer, but Jake had to refuse it. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m meeting a supplier for lunch, and this afternoon I’m flying to Brussels to meet up with our European distributors. I don’t expect I’ll be back much before midnight.’

Marcie groaned. Then, with obvious inspiration, ‘I could come with you. I’m free all day.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Jake let her down lightly. ‘How much work do you think I’d get done with you along for the ride? No, Marcie. I guess we’re going to have to put the champagne on ice for another day.’

‘If I don’t find someone else to drink it with, you mean?’ she flashed shortly, and Jake expelled a weary breath.

‘Your call,’ he said drily, aware that a significant silence had fallen behind him. He’d been on the phone too long, and there was only so much that could be decided in his absence.

‘So I won’t see you until Saturday,’ Marcie said tightly.

‘Looks that way,’ agreed Jake, casting an apologetic glance over his shoulder. ‘I’ll call you when I get back.’

The sound of Marcie’s phone disconnecting was his answer, and he pulled a face at his reflection in the rain-washed windows before closing his own phone and slipping it into his pocket.

Then he turned back to his colleagues. ‘Sorry about that, gentlemen,’ he said, forcing a smile for their benefit. ‘What’s that expression? A little local difficulty, right? Now, where were we?’

Isobel was tempted to keep Emily home from school the next morning. The girl had had a restless night, crying out in her sleep, waking herself up every couple of hours to go to the bathroom. Naturally Isobel hadn’t slept much either, and they were both hollow-eyed at breakfast.

But she had a pile of properties on her desk at work, and meetings with clients scheduled for most of the morning. Isobel knew she didn’t dare take another day off. She’d already stretched her boss’s goodwill to breaking point in looking after her mother, and she didn’t kid herself that her skill at selling houses was indispensable.

Besides, she had the feeling that her daughter would be better off at school. Staying at home would only remind her of what had happened the night before, and Isobel was desperate that Emily should put that unpleasantness behind her. She was only a child, after all. She didn’t understand. Jake should never have taken out his own frustration with Isobel on the girl.

Yet what had she expected? She’d known that sooner or later he—or someone else—would tell Emily of the doubts concerning her paternity. Her mother had threatened to do so more than once. But Isobel had warned her, on pain of excommunication, not to say anything to upset the child until she was old enough to handle it.

And they’d been getting along with their lives quite well. They weren’t well off. Emily’s school fees, and the money Isobel paid towards her mother’s expenses, ensured that there was little change at the end of the month. But she knew there were others far less comfortable than themselves.

Lady Hannah’s illness, however, had made a severe dent in her income—and her confidence. Isobel had had no idea where she would find the money to pay for her mother’s treatment. The idea of the old lady having to wait to have her operation in a National Health hospital had not been an option. The doctor had admitted that Lady Hannah might die before the life-saving surgery was performed, and there’d been no way Isobel could allow that to happen.

She suspected Jake might have loaned her the money if she’d asked him. But she’d had no desire to involve him, no desire to precipitate exactly what had happened the night before. So she’d sold her car, and what little jewellery she’d possessed, and cut their expenses to the bone to pay back the mortgage she’d raised on the apartment.

Of course, she hadn’t anticipated that Jake might want to see her, that her mother might be taken ill on the very afternoon he was due to arrive. It was years since there’d been any serious contact between them. If he needed to speak to her, he usually phoned, and she’d actually begun to believe that Emily might be a young woman before Isobel had to confess her part in Jake’s estrangement from his family.

But that was before Marcie Duncan came on the scene. Marcie, who was young and beautiful, who didn’t just want an affair, who wanted a husband.

Isobel’s husband.

‘Am I really not—not his daughter?’ Emily asked suddenly, as Isobel was wondering what she was going to tell her mother when she visited her this evening, and she turned to look at the child. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn’t noticed that Emily had put down her cereal spoon and was regarding her now with wide, troubled eyes.

‘No, you are his daughter.’ Isobel was adamant. She didn’t care if she aggravated Jake; she wasn’t going to lie to the child. ‘We talked about this last night, Em, and I told you not to worry about it. Whatever—Daddy—says, however painful his words may be, you are his daughter. You’re our daughter. And—I love you very much.’

‘He doesn’t.’ Emily was dogged, and she pushed her untouched bowl aside. Then, cautiously, ‘Why doesn’t he believe us?’

Isobel stifled a groan. ‘I—your father has never forgiven me for something I did before you were born,’ she admitted at last. ‘It’s my fault, not his.’

Emily frowned. ‘What did you do?’

But that was beyond even Isobel’s abilities to explain. ‘It’s not important now,’ she said, getting up from the breakfast bar and carrying her coffee cup to the sink. ‘Go on, eat your cornflakes. We’ve got to leave in ten minutes and I want to phone the hospital first.’

‘The hospital?’ To Isobel’s relief, Emily was distracted, and although she didn’t make any attempt to eat her cereal, she was obviously concerned. ‘How long is Granny going to be in hospital?’

‘I don’t know.’ Anxiety clogged Isobel’s throat for a moment. Although the events of the night before had served to divert her thoughts from her mother’s relapse, the reality of the situation was suddenly almost too much to bear. She and Lady Hannah hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, and there’d been times when Isobel had thought the old lady was going out of her way to cause trouble for her. But she was her mother, her only living relative apart from Emily, and if anything happened to her she’d be completely devastated. On top of everything else it just seemed too much.

‘Is she going to die?’

Emily’s voice betrayed the panic that Isobel was trying so hard to hide, and in an effort to reassure the child she gave a short laugh.

‘Of course not!’ she exclaimed, pointing at Emily’s dish again. ‘You can come with me to see her this evening. Now, eat your breakfast. I don’t want you falling ill, too.’

To her relief, Emily picked up her spoon and made a gallant attempt to swallow her cereal. But she was still upset, and Isobel wondered again if she ought to send her to school in this state.

But she didn’t have a lot of choice. Without her mother to call on she was severely limited in the arrangements she could make. There was always Sarah Daniels, of course, but although her friend had always professed herself willing to act as babysitter, she had three children of her own to care for.