Sinful Truths. Anne Mather
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wide, forearms resting along his thighs. ‘We dealt with that fiction some time ago, and I don’t intend to let you divert me with it now. I’m here because it’s past time we put an end to this travesty—’
‘What are we having for supper, Mummy?’
Isobel didn’t know if Emily had been eavesdropping on their conversation or whether her intervention was as innocent as it appeared. Either way, it achieved the dual purpose of providing a distraction and putting Jake off his stride.
He swore, quite audibly, and Isobel glared at him reprovingly before transferring her attention to her daughter. ‘Have you made the tea?’ she asked, ignoring her husband’s scowling face. ‘We can decide what we’re having for supper later.’
‘Will Daddy be staying for supper?’
Emily was nothing if not persistent, and despite everything Isobel was tempted to smile. ‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Just fetch the tea, sweetheart. Then you can go and start running your bath.’
‘Oh, must I?’
‘Do as your mother says,’ said Jake harshly, and Emily’s expression changed from mild disappointment to cold fury.
‘Don’t you tell me what to do, you—you womaniser!’ she exclaimed angrily, and Isobel didn’t know which of them was the most astounded at her outburst.
After the way Emily had behaved when she’d got home Isobel had hoped that she and Jake had come to some sort of compromise. She should have known better.
Predictably, Jake recovered first. ‘You little bitch!’ he snapped. ‘How dare you call me a womaniser?’
‘Because it’s what you are,’ declared Emily, unwilling to back down, and Jake snorted.
‘I bet you got that from your grandmother, didn’t you?’ he demanded. ‘That old—’
‘I heard it at school, actually,’ Emily contradicted him, her voice breaking a little now. ‘It’s what the older girls say about you. They laugh about it. They say you’ve had loads of girlfriends and that you don’t care about Mummy and me at all.’
Isobel didn’t know where to look. It was obvious that the child’s words had shocked her husband, but she knew she couldn’t allow Emily to get away with insolence, whatever the justification.
‘I think you owe your father an apology, Emily,’ she said quietly, uncaring what Jake thought of her words. But his response overrode hers.
‘I don’t care what people say,’ he retorted grimly, but Isobel could tell from his tone that that wasn’t entirely true. Jake was not without feelings, after all, and Emily’s accusations had the ring of truth. ‘Your mother knows I would never allow her—or you—to suffer from my actions.’
‘But we do,’ muttered Emily tearfully. ‘Why can’t we be a proper family? Why can’t you live with us, like any proper father would?’
‘Emily—’
Isobel was desperate to stop this from going any further, but Jake had had enough.
‘Because I’m not your father,’ he snapped savagely, and Isobel closed her eyes as Emily’s face whitened and the tears began to fall in earnest.
‘You are,’ she protested, in spite of her distress, and although Isobel got to her feet and started towards her it was too late. ‘I know you are,’ she persisted. ‘Mummy says so. And Mummy doesn’t tell lies.
‘And nor do I,’ said Jake, driven to his feet also. ‘For pity’s sake, Emily—’
‘I don’t want to listen to you.’ Emily put both hands over her ears and stared at him through tear-drenched lashes. ‘I am your daughter. You know I am.’ She turned despairingly towards Isobel. ‘Tell him, Mummy. Tell him that’s who I am. He has to believe you. Especially today.’
Isobel managed to get an arm about her daughter’s shoulders, but Jake wasn’t finished. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Why especially today?’
‘Because of the game,’ said Emily tremulously. ‘Because of Black Knights. You said it yourself. You said I was like you. I played to win.’
It was at least forty minutes before Isobel returned to find Jake pacing about the living room like a caged lion. His eyes turned instantly to her as soon as she appeared in the doorway, and she could tell from the stark lines that etched his mouth that he had been fighting his own demons since she’d led the weeping child away.
‘How is she?’ he demanded, pausing on the hearth, and because he was back-lit by the orange flames of the fire his face was partly in shadow.
‘How do you think?’ Isobel wasn’t inclined to reassure him, even if it wasn’t all his fault that Emily had got so upset. Then, reluctantly, she added, ‘She’s gone to sleep. Finally. She was exhausted.’ She paused. ‘I’m surprised you’re still here.’
Jake’s jaw tightened. ‘Where else would I be?’
‘Oh, right.’ Isobel’s nostrils flared in sudden comprehension. ‘We never did finish our conversation, did we?’
Jake bit off an oath. ‘That’s not why I stayed.’
‘No?’ Isobel felt too weary to cope with anything just now. She glanced at her watch and was astonished to find it was after half-past-eight. ‘Goodness, is that the time?’
‘You didn’t even get that cup of tea,’ remarked Jake wryly. ‘I could do with a drink myself. How do you feel about me making us both one?’
‘I can do it.’ The last thing Isobel wanted was for Jake to feel he had to look after her. It would be far too ironic. ‘I assume you’d prefer something stronger than tea? All I’ve got is sherry, I’m afraid.’
‘No beer?’
‘I don’t like beer,’ said Isobel stiffly. ‘And I can’t aff— I mean, we have no use for spirits.’
Jake’s mouth tightened, and she guessed he knew exactly what she had been going to say. But, although she prepared herself for an argument, all he said was, ‘How about cola? Surely Emily drinks that?’
‘Diet cola,’ agreed Isobel, starting towards the kitchen. ‘I think we’ve got some in the fridge.’
Jake followed her, his hands pushed into his hip pockets, his hair rumpled, as if he had spent some of the time he’d been waiting running his fingers through it. Yet he still looked as attractive as ever, and Isobel thought how unfair it was that one man should continue to have such power over her.
But it was dangerous thinking about that now, and she busied herself taking a can of cola from the fridge, setting it and a glass on the counter nearest to him. Then, switching on the kettle, she emptied the pot of tea Emily had made earlier.
Jake didn’t touch the glass. He simply flipped the tab and drank straight from the can, his head tipped back, the muscles in his throat moving rhythmically as he swallowed the chilled liquid.
Isobel found herself watching him and quickly looked away. But in her mind’s eye she could still see the smooth column of his throat and the brown skin that disappeared into the neckline of his tee shirt.
He seemed darker-skinned than usual, and she wondered where he had spent his winter break this year. Then she remembered. There had been an article in one of the tabloids about how ex-Page Three model Marcie Duncan had been seen holidaying with her latest conquest, computer millionaire Jake McCabe, in the Seychelles.
There had been pictures, too, but Isobel hadn’t looked at those. She wouldn’t have seen the article at all if Lady Hannah hadn’t saved it for her. She winced. Sometimes she couldn’t make up her mind whether her mother truly had her best interests at heart or if she got some perverted kind of pleasure out of proving that she had been right all along.