Surrendering To The Italian's Command. Kim Lawrence
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TESS LEANED HER hot forehead against the fridge and struggled to inject a smile into her hoarse voice. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘I feel a hundred times better.’
‘You’re a terrible liar,’ Fiona retorted.
Tess straightened up and lifted a hand to her throbbing head, responding to the affection in her friend’s voice with a weak smile. ‘No, I’m a very good liar.’
Only yesterday she had sounded sincere when she’d told her mum’s PA that she was really sorry she couldn’t attend the community centre official opening where her mum was cutting the ribbon. Flu had its plus points—though in this case she wasn’t lying, she really was feeling better; even so a hundred times better than utterly wretched was still pretty awful.
‘I would have dropped in on my way home but I had to work late. You’re not the only one with this flu—half the office is off sick. It’s a nightmare. But I’ll definitely stop by in the morning after I drop off Sally and the girls at the station. Is there anything you need?’
‘You really don’t need—’
‘I’ll be there.’
Tess applied a tissue to her red nose. She was too tired to argue.
‘Well, don’t blame me if you catch this thing,’ she grumbled.
‘I never get the flu.’
‘I think they call that tempting fate,’ Tess muttered as she rested from the two steps she had taken, leaning heavily against the worktop counter. It was crazy but her knees were still shaking from the effort of walking from the bedroom to the kitchen.
Fiona cut across her. ‘In the meantime make sure you get plenty of fluids—’ Tess heard the sliver of sharp anxiety that slid into her friend’s tone as she added, ‘You did change all the locks?’
‘I did everything the police suggested.’
Which amounted to becoming a prisoner in her own flat. She glanced over at the extra bolts that had been fitted to her front door when she’d had her locks changed.
‘They should have arrested the disgusting sicko.’
‘They raised the possibility of a restraining order—’
The admission drew a gasp from Fiona. ‘Then why...?’ Followed by an understanding groan. ‘Oh, of course, your mum...?’
Tess said nothing; she didn’t need to. Fiona was one of the only people who understood. She’d been there when, at ten, Tess had become the poster girl for her mum’s crusade against school bullying. And Fiona had been there again when her mum had used a tearful image of her at her dad’s funeral as part of her campaign to win a local council election.
‘She means well,’ Tess said, unable to resist the knee-jerk reaction to defend her parent. It was true that Beth Tracey—she had reverted to her maiden name after she was widowed—did have the best of intentions, and though she had a genius for self-promotion it was never herself she promoted, but her good causes.
‘The rumour is that she’s going to put herself forward as an independent candidate for mayor?’
‘I heard that rumour too.’ Lucky for her, Tess reflected grimly, that her ambitious parent had finally accepted the fact her only daughter was not a political asset, though that didn’t stop her trying.
‘Even if I had gone down that route there is no guarantee the court would have granted it. He comes across as very...well...harmless. And I had no proof he’d even been in the flat. After all, he didn’t actually t...take anything.’ Tess hated the quiver in her voice—she’d sworn not to be a victim.
‘What he did was way worse, Tess. That creep invaded your home.’
Tess was glad her friend couldn’t see her as her knees sagged and she slid down to the floor. The incident had been the turning point, the moment Tess had realised that ignoring the man, even feeling sorry for him, was not an option. He was dangerous!
Even a month after the event the memory still had the power to send a wave of nausea through her, powerful, but nothing like the sick disgust, the profound sense of violation she had experienced that evening. The rose petals on the bed and the champagne and glasses displayed on the bedside table had been terrifying enough, but it had been the open underwear drawer that had made her rush to the bathroom to throw up.
It was as if her stalker had wanted her to know, and yet he had taken great care not to leave any evidence of his identity.
‘I know.’ Tess cleared her throat and struggled to steady her voice. ‘I suppose from their point of view people leaving flowers and champagne isn’t a major crime.’
‘Stalking is these days. Did you tell them about the emails?’
‘There was nothing threatening. The police were sympathetic.’ Tess had been prepared not to be believed but the professionals had found it easier than she had to accept that the deep and meaningful relationship Ben Morgan believed he shared with Tess consisted only of the odd good morning they had exchanged at the bus stop.
‘Well, sympathy is going to be really useful when he stabs you in your sleep one dark night!’
Alerted by Tess’s audible gasp, Fiona stopped and hastily backtracked. ‘Not that he would, of course. The man’s a wimp, a total loser! Me and my big mouth. Are you all right, Tess?’
Teeth clenched, Tess stubbornly fought her way back from the place where Fiona’s angry remark had sent her, ignoring the icy fist in her stomach. Her chin lifted. To feel fear meant the crazy had won.
‘Nothing two aspirin and a cup of tea won’t cure,’ she said, struggling wearily to her feet.
‘Turn that thing down, you lot, or I’ll switch off the cartoons... Sorry about that,’ Fiona continued, raising her voice above the din that Tess could now hear in the background. ‘My dear sister is taking a bath and the twins are running rings around me. Under-fives and a white carpet are not a good combination...who knew?’
‘You go and save your carpet, Fi.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right? You sound awful.’
Tess managed a hoarse chuckle. ‘I look even worse.’ She pushed a strand of lank hair from her face and turned her back on her distorted reflection in the polished surface of the kettle. A glance in the mirror, when she’d dragged herself out of bed earlier, had already revealed her red nose, dark circled eyes and ghostly pallor. ‘But I’m fine.’
A snort of exasperation echoed down the line.
‘All right,’ she admitted. ‘I feel terrible but I’m going to make myself a cuppa and go back to bed.’
‘Good plan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Putting on the kettle, Tess opened the fridge and pulled out an open carton of milk. Her congested nose meant it wasn’t until it landed in a congealed gloopy mess in the bottom of her mug that she realised it had soured.
Deprived of it, suddenly all Tess could think about was a cup of tea. The corner shop was less than two hundred yards from her front door...if she took the shortcut through the alley.
Tess, still in her pyjamas, left the flat huddled in the duffel coat that Fiona’s boyfriend had left behind the last time he and Fi had come to supper. He was a slight man but the coat still swamped Tess’s petite frame.
Slow and steady, she counselled her shaking knees. Like I have a choice! She had made it halfway down the alley when she heard the helpful policewoman’s soothing voice in her head.
‘Look, don’t get paranoid. You’ve done right to remove your online presence—a pain, I know, but the anonymity makes people like this guy feel brave. As