Guilty. Anne Mather
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set the casserole dish containing the fish on a cork mat in the middle of the table. The attractive terracotta-coloured casserole looked good amid the cream plates, with their narrow gold edging, and the crystal wine glasses that had been her gift to herself last Christmas.
She had bought some wine, and, although if Mark came for a meal she had him uncork the bottle, this evening she tackled the job herself. It wasn’t as if she was helpless, she thought irritably, removing a tiny speck of cork from the rim. It was only that Julie tended to intimidate her. And that was her own fault, too.
In the event, the meal was a success. The fish tasted as delicious as Laura had hoped, and, whatever Jake and her daughter had said to one another in the living-room, the atmosphere between them was definitely lighter. Evidently, Julie had been appeased, and, although Jake still didn’t respond to her frequent attempts to touch him, he didn’t reject them either. Instead, he spoke equally to both women, encouraging Julie to talk about her recent trip to Scandinavia, and showing an apparently genuine interest in Laura’s teaching.
Although Laura was sure he was only being polite, so far as she was concerned, she was not averse to talking about her job, and only when Julie gave a rather pronounced yawn did she realise she had been lecturing. But it was so rare that she spoke to anyone at any length outside the teaching profession, and Jake’s intelligent observations had inspired her to share her opinions.
When they eventually left the table, Julie asked if she could have a bath. ‘I feel grubby,’ she said, deliberately stretching her arms above her head, so that the perfect lines of her slim figure could be seen to advantage. She wore her hair short these days, and with its smooth curve cupping her head like a burnished cap, and her small breasts thrusting freely against the bronze silk, she was both provocative and beautiful. She cast a mocking smile in Jake’s direction. ‘But you won’t be able to come and wash my back, darling,’ she added lightly. ‘Mum doesn’t approve of that sort of thing, do you, Mum?’
Laura didn’t know how to answer her, but as it happened she didn’t have to. ‘I’ll be too busy helping your mother with the washing-up, anyway,’ Jake returned, causing Laura no small spasm of trepidation. ‘Go ahead. Take your bath, cara. We don’t mind—do we, Laura?’
Laura turned to stare at him then, telling herself it was his attempt to link them together that disturbed her, and not her reaction to her name on his lips. But Jake wasn’t aware of her scrutiny. He was looking at Julie, and for once her daughter seemed nonplussed. Laura guessed she, too, was trying to gauge exactly what Jake was implying by his remarks, and her response revealed her uncertainty.
‘I—well, of course, I’ll help to clear up first—–’ she began but she got no further.
‘It’s not necessary for either of you to help me. Really,’ Laura retorted, her face reddening as she spoke. ‘Honestly. I can manage. Please. I’d rather.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ declared Jake, apparently indifferent to her embarrassment. ‘You’ve been at work all day, while we’ve only had a rather leisurely drive from London. In addition to which, you prepared this very appetising meal, which we’ve all enjoyed. I suggest you go and relax, while we deal with the clearing up.’
Laura looked at Julie now, and she could tell that her daughter didn’t like this turn of events at all. It was so unexpected, for one thing, and, for another, Julie wasn’t used to being treated like a servant in her own home. It did not augur well for the remainder of the weekend, and Laura decided she wasn’t prepared to play pig-in-the-middle any longer.
‘No,’ she said clearly, gathering up the coffee-cups and saucers, and bundling them on to the drainer. ‘Really, Mr—er—I insist. You’re my guests. I invited you here, and I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to do my job.’ She couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she spoke, so she looked at Julie instead. ‘Go along,’ she continued. ‘Have your bath. The water’s nice and hot, and there’s plenty of it.’
‘Are you sure?’
Julie hesitated, looking doubtfully from Jake to her mother and back again, but Laura was adamant. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Heavens, there are only a few plates to wash, when all’s said and done. Hurry up. I’m sure your—er—friend would much prefer your company to mine.’
Julie frowned. It was obvious what she wanted to do, but Jake’s attitude had confused her. Still, her own basic belief, that she was not being selfish by allowing her mother to have her own way, won out, and, giving them both a grateful smile, she departed. Seconds later, Laura heard the sound of her daughter’s footsteps on the stairs, and, breathing a sigh of relief, she moved towards the sink.
‘You’re wrong, you know.’
She had almost forgotten Jake was still there, but now his quiet words caused her to glance round at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said—you’re wrong,’ he responded. He had got up from the table when she had, and now he was leaning against the base unit behind her, his arms folded across his chest, his long legs crossed at the ankle.
‘About Julie?’ Laura turned her back on him again, and proceeded to fill the sink with soapy water. ‘Possibly.’
‘You spoil her,’ he went on. ‘She’s perfectly capable of washing a few dishes.’
‘Maybe.’ Laura didn’t like his assumption that he could discuss Julie with her, as if she were some racalcitrant child. ‘But—I choose to do them myself.’
‘No.’ Jake came to stand beside her as he spoke, and now she was forced to meet his dark gaze. ‘No, you don’t choose to do them yourself. You take the line of least resistance. Which just happens to coincide with what Julie wants to do, no?’
Laura took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business, Mr—er—Lombardi—–’
‘Jake will do,’ he put in briefly. ‘And so long as Julie and I are together, I consider it is my business.’
Laura gasped. His arrogance was amazing, but at least it served to keep her own unwilling awareness of him at bay. ‘You don’t understand,’ she declared, depositing the newly washed glasses on the drainer. ‘Julie and I don’t see one another very often—–’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘It’s nobody’s fault.’ But Laura couldn’t help wondering if he knew exactly how infrequently Julie made the journey north. Recently, Laura had had to travel to London if she wanted to see her daughter, and as she could only do so during school holidays, and they often coincided with Julie’s working trips abroad, these occasions were getting fewer.
‘So—you are quite happy with the situation, hmm?’ he enquired, picking up a tea-towel, and beginning to dry a glass.
‘Yes.’
Laura’s response was taut, and she hoped that that would be an end of it. It was bad enough being obliged to entertain him while Julie went to take her bath. A conversation of this kind tended to increase their familiarity with one another, and she would have preferred to keep their relationship on much more formal terms.
She finished the dishes in silence, but she was very much aware of him moving about the small kitchen, and the distinctive scent of his skin drifted irresistibly to her nostrils. It was a combination of the soap he used, some subtle aftershave, and the warmth of his body, and Laura had the feeling it was not something she would easily forget. It was so essentially masculine, and she resented the knowledge that he could influence her without any volition on her part.
As she was putting the dishes away, he spoke again, and as before his words commanded her attention. ‘I guess you’re angry with me now, aren’t you?’ he said, stepping into her path, as she was about to put the plates into the cupboard. It caused her to stop abruptly, to prevent herself from cannoning into him, and she pressed the plates against her chest, like some primitive form of self-protection.
‘I—don’t know what