Mistresses: Blackmailed With Diamonds / Shackled with Rubies. Robyn Donald
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When I heard that ‘Mr Smith’ had come visiting I thought it was one of my cousins, being cautious. And then I walked in and saw Jack.
I made a mess of it again. I should have been overjoyed, thrown my arms around his neck, cried, Jack, darling, at last!
Instead, I was filled with the most terrible fear and misery. Perhaps I’d forgotten how to feel anything else. Anyway, I fled, and they had to stop him coming after me.
From the corridor outside I could hear him begging them to bring me back. I leaned against the wall, shaking, feeling my heart pound. Even my teeth were chattering.
A warder came back and told me briskly that I was mad.
‘If I had a feller who looked like that you wouldn’t catch me running away,’ she said. ‘Go on with you.’
So I went and sat down and, charming to the end, said, ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
Fear and misery had given way to rage. After I’d tried so hard to protect him he’d swept all my efforts aside and walked into the lions’ den. Had he no sense?
I think I said something like that—something bad-tempered, anyway. He ought to have walked out, but he didn’t. I remembered then how stubborn he was when he’d decided on something.
He looked different—thinner, older—and he’d lost that look of always having a smile about to burst out. He smiled sometimes, but it was forced, and faded quickly. Then his manner became curt and no-nonsense. He even snapped at me. I snapped back, and we were soon squabbling.
I told him about my life in the months since we’d parted, but all the time I was wondering about his life, whether I was responsible for his withered look, as though something were gnawing him from inside.
If I could have done as I wanted I’d have put my arms about him, promised never to go away again. But I couldn’t. A block of ice seemed to be pressing on my chest, trapping the feelings inside. So I went on being grumpy and he went on giving his orders.
He’d fired my lawyer, he was hiring another, he wanted my address. I had to be sensible, leave it to him, just keep quiet and don’t argue. Bully Jack was there with a vengeance.
I did what he wanted, then we rowed some more, and he left.
I didn’t know what to think. At the back of my mind I knew things had taken a turn for the better, but I couldn’t feel it. I didn’t know this new version of Jack, or how to react to him.
My new lawyer was called Thomas Wendell. He came to see me that same afternoon, and the very next day I was back in court, pleading not guilty.
‘But how can I?’ I demanded. ‘After they caught me red-handed.’
‘Miss Martin, my instructions are that you were not caught red-handed, but merely the victim of a misunderstanding which will soon be sorted out.’
‘Your instructions? From Mr Bullen, I suppose? What else did he say?’
‘To get you out of here at all costs. Now, please speak as little as possible, and leave everything to me.’
Inside the court he put in my plea and asked for bail, but the magistrate was reluctant. He spoke of my lack of co-operation and suggested that I was liable to abscond.
In the end bail was set at thirty thousand pounds. An outrageous figure. Without batting an eyelid Mr Wendell agreed.
That told me all I needed to know. But it might have been worse. At least Jack hadn’t actually turned up in court.
‘What do I do now?’ I asked as we left.
‘You see that car over there, with the blacked-out windows? Just get in the back. Goodbye.’
‘Hey, wait a—’
But he was already walking away, leaving me no choice but to go to the car.
Jack was there in the back, his face harsh with tension. He drew me inside, tapped the dividing screen, and an unseen chauffeur started up.
As we moved off Jack threw himself back into the far corner and just sat looking at me. The light was poor, and I couldn’t see his face well, but I think it bore the saddest look I’d ever seen.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘I’m better now. I’ll be all right when I’ve seen Grandad.’
‘I’m taking you to him. One moment.’ His mobile phone had rung and he answered it curtly. ‘Yes? I know, but I can’t help it—you’ll just have to handle the meeting yourself. You can do it, Peter. I trust you.’
When he’d finished I took a deep breath and started on the speech I knew I had to make.
‘I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you when you came to see me. I’m really grateful for—’
‘Shut up!’
His voice seemed to reach me across a vast distance.
‘Don’t thank me. Whatever you do, don’t thank me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I can believe that,’ he said, almost savagely.
Silence. A cold, bitter silence, between strangers.
‘If I can’t say sorry, what can I say?’
‘Nothing. What is there to say?’
He sounded oddly defeated, and his shoulders sagged. I hated seeing him like that. He was my Jack, king of the world, who could sort out anything. Worst of all was the feeling that the person who’d brought him to this was me.
‘This isn’t the way home,’ I said suddenly, startled.
‘You don’t live there any more. I’m taking you to my place.’
‘But Grandad—’
‘He’s already there. I went to see him at the address you gave me as soon as I left the prison yesterday.’
I made an amazed gesture, which he understood.
‘He was a little surprised, since you’d never mentioned me to him,’ he said. ‘But I told him what was happening, and we packed up and went.’
‘How is he?’
‘I found him fairly depressed. That’s why I took him with me at once. I thought the less time he spent alone brooding the better.
‘You mean he stayed at your place last night?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Jack, what did you tell him?’
‘Just that you worked on my boat. For all he knows you were a waitress. But we didn’t talk much. We just got drunk.’
This was becoming more surreal every moment. I tried to imagine their meeting at our shabby little home, and in the end I gave up.
Nor could I picture Jack getting drunk. Grandad, yes.
The phone rang again. He answered impatiently, said, ‘I’ll be there in an hour,’ and hung up.
We were in the heart of Mayfair now, gliding through residential streets that were quiet and unobtrusively wealthy. We stopped in front of an apartment block and I waited for him to get out. But he seemed frozen, staring at the floor as though lost in an unhappy dream.
‘Why did you do it?’ he said at last.
‘I told you why in my letter. I had to go, and now surely you must know why?’
‘There could have been a way around it if only you’d trusted me. Now—’ He gave a dispirited shrug.
I knew what he was saying. It was too late—now. He was helping me for old times’ sake,