Knave of Hearts. Caroline Anderson
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Big Apple—or should I call it the Golden Nugget?’
He opened his mouth to argue, and then shut it with a snap. Taking the carrier bag from her, he strode down the hall and flung open the front door.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He stepped out into the night, and as she moved to push the door to behind him, he slapped it back against the wall and spun to face her.
‘Incidentally, about that piece of scrap iron on the drive …’he gritted furiously.
She frowned in confusion. ‘Scrap iron? You mean my car——?’
‘Car?’ he snorted. ‘It’s a wreck! The first thing I’m doing is buying you a decent one, because there’s no way my daughter’s riding round in that ancient death-trap!’
Anne was furious. First the house, now the car! ‘How dare you? Just where the hell do you get off calling my car a death-trap?’
‘Look at it! The thing’s lethal—if it has an MOT certificate I’d stake my life it’s cooked. You’ve got no business taking a child in a vehicle like that——’
‘How dare you? It’s none of your business what I do with Beth——’
‘Rubbish!’ he roared. ‘Of course it’s my business! She’s my daughter, damn it!’
‘No, she isn’t!’ Anne screamed, almost beyond endurance. ‘She’s my daughter, and I won’t have you interfering—what are you doing?’
She ran after him, holding his arm as he wrenched open the driver’s door and pulled the bonnet catch.
‘Jake, what the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’
‘Disabling it is what I’m playing at. If you won’t be responsible, then I’ll have to be responsible for you.’ He opened the bonnet, undipped the distributor cap and pocketed the rotor arm.
‘Damn you, give that back!’ she shouted.
‘No.’ He slammed the bonnet, and lights came on all round the quiet little street.
‘What’s going on out there?’ someone called.
‘Damn it, Jake, give it back!’ she pleaded.
‘Anne, are you all right?’
That was Jenny’s husband, out in the snow in dressing-gown and slippers with a torch in his hand.
‘I’m fine, Phil. Just a silly joke. Sorry to disturb you,’ and then in an undertone, ‘Jake, please, be reasonable!’
‘No. Evening!’ he called to Phil, then, turning on his heel, he scrunched over the snow to his front door.
‘Goodnight, you little hell-cat. I’ll give you a lift to work in the morning. Be ready at eight.’
The door banged behind him, and Anne was left standing foolishly in the front garden in bare feet, suddenly desperately conscious of all the hidden eyes watching her from round the street.
‘Sure you’re OK?’ Phil asked from the safety of his front door.
She nodded. ‘I’m fine. Sorry!’
She closed the door behind her and sagged against the wall.
What a scene! How was she going to face all those people the next day? It was all right for Jake, he never had cared what people thought of him, but she had to live here and the way he was carrying on she wouldn’t be able to!
Oh, damn you, Hunter, she thought bitterly. Why did you have to turn up and throw everything into confusion?
She went into the sitting-room and warmed her feet in front of the fire, then straightened the cushions, made herself a cup of tea and took it up to bed, realising as she did so that she hadn’t offered him so much as a glass of cold water in the three hours or so he had been there.
Sighing heavily, she prepared for bed, checked Beth and slipped between the cold sheets with a shudder.
She could have been warm, of course, if she’d let Jake stay—but what kind of an option was that? She punched the pillows into shape and sat up, cradling her tea in her hands and wondering how she was going to cope with having Jake as a next-door neighbour.
Not well, was the answer.
She could hear him moving about in the house, and after she had drunk her tea she lay down and tried to sleep, but her ears were straining for the sound of his movements on the other side of the wall.
After an age he came to bed, in the room that adjoined hers, his headboard against hers so that if she could have put her hand through the wall she could have touched him.
The thought unsettled her, and she turned over, punching her pillow viciously.
‘Having trouble sleeping, Annie?’ he asked mockingly. That’s what comes of having secrets.’
Damn you, she thought heatedly, but her soft heart went out to him. He might be the most awful rake God ever frowned on, but she loved him, and just now he must be hurting.
‘Goodnight, Jake,’ she said quietly.
‘Goodnight, Annie. See you in the morning. Oh, and Annie? Don’t think you’re going to win. I get what I want in the end, and make no mistake, I want you.’
‘I want you’. Three simple words, yet they had the power to ruin her entire night’s sleep!
It seemed she had hardly dozed off before she heard a knocking on the wall.
‘Rise and shine, sweetheart—seven-thirty!’
‘Go away,’ she mumbled, and through the wall she heard his soft laughter.
‘Not a morning person, are you, my darling?’
‘I’m not your darling!’ she said clearly, and, throwing back the bedclothes, she stumbled out into the frigid air.
Beth was still fast asleep, her dark lashes heavy on her softly flushed cheeks. Anne reached out a hand and stroked her hair back tenderly.
‘Beth? Wake up, sleepyhead.’
The impossible lashes fluttered and lifted, and Beth smiled and stretched sleepily.
‘Hello,’ she said through a yawn, and Anne hugged her.
‘Hello, darling. Time to get up now.’
She rummaged in the drawers for some clean underwear, and laid it on the bed with Beth’s uniform. ‘Here you are, darling. Get dressed quickly, there’s a good girl, and I’ll see what I can find for breakfast.’
Anne washed hastily in the chilly bathroom, scrubbed her teeth, and then rummaged for her own clothes.
It was time to get out the ancient twin-tub again and battle with the laundry, she thought with a sigh. There was no chance it would dry outside with the weather as cold as it was, which meant either a trip to the launderette or having everything hanging around the house on airers for days on end.
And there was no food in the house.
She went down to the kitchen and looked in the cupboards, like old Mother Hubbard.
Cereal, but not enough milk to go on it. Sunflower spread, but no bread. Porridge oats, but Beth wouldn’t eat porridge without syrup, and guess what?
The doorbell pealed, shockingly loud in the stillness.
She heard Beth throw herself down the stairs.
‘I’ll get it!’
Anne shook her head and went out into the hall.
‘Hi, Jake!’ Beth said with a grin. ‘Come in!’
He ruffled her hair, and looked over her head to Anne.
‘Morning,