Sinful Truths. Anne Mather
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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 tell you that.’
‘No.’ Emily looked doubtful. ‘Is that why you don’t live with us any more?’
‘No!’ Jake knew he sounded resentful and he quickly modified his tone. ‘Look, why don’t you go and watch TV or something? I’ve got some calls to make.’
Emily frowned. ‘What calls?’
‘Phone calls,’ said Jake shortly, getting to his feet and pulling his cellphone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Do you mind?’
‘I don’t mind.’ Emily shook her head. ‘Who are you going to call?’
My mistress?
Jake tried the answer on for size and instantly rejected it. His quarrel had never been with the child, after all. She was the innocent victim here and he had no desire to hurt her.
‘A friend,’ he said instead, sitting down again. ‘No one you know.’
‘A woman-friend?’
Emily was persistent, and once again Jake had to guard his tongue.
‘Does it matter?’ he asked, maintaining a neutral tone with an effort. He paused significantly. ‘Can I have a little privacy here?’
‘May I have a little privacy,’ Emily corrected him primly. ‘Granny says you keep beans in cans.’
Granny had far too much to say for herself, thought Jake savagely. But he was relieved when Emily got to her feet and started towards to the door.
‘I’ll go and see what we’re having for supper,’ she said with evident reluctance. ‘It’s probably going be late when Mummy gets back.’
Jake opened his mouth to say it had better not be, and then closed it again. Emily had left the room in any case. Besides, he was half convinced she’d only been baiting him. For a ten—almost eleven—year-old, she was remarkably mature.
Marcie sounded less than pleased when she came on the line. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re going to be late. Honestly, Jake, I thought you said it wouldn’t take long.’
Jake sighed. He could hear the sounds of the hair salon in the background: the constant buzz of voices, the hum of the driers, the subtle Muzak that was supposed to relax the clients.
‘There’s been a complication,’ he said, hoping she could hear him. ‘Isobel’s not here.’
‘She’s not there?’ Obviously she could hear him loud and clear. ‘So what’s the problem? You’ll have to see her some other time.’
‘No, I can’t. That is—’ Jake knew it wasn’t going to be easy convincing her that he had to stay. ‘Emily’s here.’
‘The kid?’
‘Isobel’s daughter, yes.’ Jake didn’t really like the dismissive way Marcie had spoken of her. ‘She’s on her own.’
‘So?’
‘So I’ve got to stay until her mother gets back,’ said Jake evenly. ‘You’d better order a cab to take you home from the salon.’
‘No!’ Marcie sounded furious. ‘Jake, do you have any idea how difficult it is to order a cab at this time of the evening?’
‘I know.’ Jake blew out a weary breath. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do.’
‘There is something you