Czytaj książkę: «Tangled Emotions»
Tangled Emotions
Catherine George
Catherine George was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading, which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. Instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera and browse in antiques shops.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
SOMEONE was following her. The narrow street was deserted, and the light at the end still broken, which meant a plunge into total darkness before she was safe behind a locked door. Determined not to look round, she lengthened her stride, wishing she’d waited for a taxi. The starless night was hot and humid, but for the first time in her life she felt a cold stab of fear. She dismissed it scornfully: once she reached the house, whoever was following would just walk past. Then found herself proved horribly wrong when two skinny figures in cartoon masks appeared on either side of her, jostling her to a standstill.
‘Give us money and you won’t get hurt,’ squeaked one of them, grabbing her arm.
‘Not a chance!’ she hissed, and, fired by fear and rage and sheer incredulity that this could actually be happening to her, she rammed an elbow into her young assailant’s ribs and prepared to do battle.
After a two-hour drive on the motorway, diversion signs were leading Joe Tregenna all round the town, and he was in no mood to get involved when his headlamps picked up a knot of youths in a brawl. Then he saw that one of them was a girl, struggling with two figures in masks. With a muttered curse he braked to a stop and jumped from the car just as one youth doubled up in a crumpled heap on the ground and the other took to his heels and raced off, sobbing, in the darkness.
‘Are you all right?’ Joe asked the girl urgently. ‘Are you hurt?’
She shook her head, thrusting her hair behind her ears. ‘No,’ she panted. ‘Just livid. But he’s not so good.’ She glared at the gasping, writhing figure on the ground. ‘I’d better ring the police.’
At the dreaded word the boy shot to his feet, but Joe grabbed him by his collar. ‘Oh, no, you don’t, sunshine.’
‘We wasn’t hurting her,’ the boy choked. ‘We was only asking for change.’
‘In masks?’ said Joe grimly. ‘I don’t think so.’ He turned to the girl. ‘You’re shivering. Are you sure you’re all right?’
She nodded brusquely. ‘Angry, not cold.’
Joe reached one-handed for the cellphone on his belt. ‘Ring the police on this.’
‘No!’ The boy burst into tears, shaking like a leaf in Joe’s grasp. ‘Please don’t turn me in, miss. We got the masks at the garage with some sweets, so when we saw you come out of the pub we followed you for a dare—got the idea from the telly,’ he sobbed. ‘My mum’ll kill me.’
She surveyed him in silence for a moment, arms folded. ‘Let him go,’ she said at last.
Joe stared at her incredulously. ‘You can’t let him get away with it!’
She moved towards the boy, who shrank away in fright. ‘You just listen to me,’ she said militantly. ‘Here’s the deal. I’ll leave the police out of it if you swear you won’t do this again. Ever.’
He nodded feverishly. ‘I won’t. Nor Dean won’t, neither.’
‘Is Dean your friend?’ she asked.
He shook his head, sniffing hard. ‘Kid brother. He didn’t want to come. He was scared.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Robbie.’
‘Right, then, Robbie,’ she said brusquely. ‘No more stupid stunts like this.’ She bent to pick up the fallen mask. ‘But I’ll keep Batman here. It’ll have your DNA on it, remember. Is your mother at home?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s a nurse at the General—on nights this week.’
‘She leaves you on your own at night?’ said Joe, frowning.
‘No, never!’ The boy knuckled tears from his eyes. ‘Our stepdad’s home in bed. We climbed out the bedroom window once he was snoring.’
‘Are you in the habit of this?’
He gulped. ‘No, honest. We never done it before.’
‘And you’d better be sure you never do it again, like the lady said,’ ordered Joe. ‘I’m sure you’ve been warned about lifts from strangers, so we’ll walk you home and hand you over to your stepfather,’ he added, sending the boy into hysterics again.
‘Are you afraid of him?’ said the girl sharply.
‘No! He’s a good bloke. But he’ll grass on me to Mum!’
When the boy pleaded to climb back through his bedroom window instead of waking his stepfather, Joe raised an eyebrow at the tall, watchful figure of the girl. ‘OK with you? I’ll walk you home afterwards.’
The girl nodded. ‘Fine. Come on, then, Robbie. Let’s go.’
When they arrived at the address Robbie gave them, the boy gave a sigh of relief when he saw a face peering round a curtain at an upstairs window.
‘Dean’s back! He run straight home like I said.’
‘Sensible chap,’ said Joe, and turned a stern look on the boy. ‘Now, just you remember, my lad,’ he said with deliberate menace. ‘I know where you live.’
Robbie nodded feverishly, then ran up the path, swarmed up a drainpipe as nimbly as a monkey, and disappeared head-first through the open window.
Joe waited until he was sure the boy was safe inside, then gave a wry glance at his companion as they began the walk back. ‘Hello, at last. My name’s Joe Tregenna.’
She smiled briefly. ‘Fen Dysart. Thanks for your help.’
‘When I spotted a fight I was going to drive on by, or call the police at the very most,’ he said frankly. ‘But when I saw two lads to one girl I thought I’d better wade in. But I was superfluous. You’d sorted them before I could even get out of the car.’
‘No big deal with a pair of kids. I’m a head taller than either of them, for a start.’ She shrugged. ‘It was just reflex. I lashed out at them in sheer temper.’
‘Which could have been dangerous with a couple of real criminals,’ he pointed out. ‘Lucky for you it was a pair of kids behind those masks.’
‘Which is why I laid into them,’ she said curtly, then frowned. ‘How old do you think Robbie is?’
‘Hard to say. Old enough to know better, certainly. Where do you live? Can I drive you there?’
‘No need. I’m just down the road from my adventure, in Farthing Street. Once we reach your car I’ll be fine,’ she added. ‘No need for you to come any further.’
But Joe insisted on seeing her right to the door of her small, end-of-terrace house. ‘Will there be anyone there?’
‘No.’
‘In that case I’ll see you safely inside before I go on my way.’
About to refuse, Fen changed her mind. A little company right this minute wasn’t a bad idea. Now that the episode was over she felt a bit shaky. She went round the house to the back, unlocked a door, and switched on the light in a small, bare kitchen. Then she turned to get a look at her companion, who returned the scrutiny with equal curiosity as he closed the door behind him.
Joe Tregenna was a few inches taller than her own five feet ten, slim-hipped and broad-shouldered. He wore his dishevelled brown hair long enough to curl slightly at the ends, and his eyes were a dark enough blue to look black at first glance. Like his mouth, they held a hint of humour rather at odds with the uncompromising cut of nose and chin. He wore a formal white shirt with a tie loosened at the open collar, and linen trousers that looked like part of a suit.
‘I need coffee,’ she said abruptly, aware she was staring, and thrust back hair even more dishevelled than his. ‘How about you?’
‘Please.’ He smiled. ‘I could do with some caffeine after the encounter with Pennington’s junior underworld.’
‘Take a seat. I won’t be long.’ Fen dumped her backpack, shrugged off her denim jacket and slung it on the back of a chair, then filled the kettle and plugged it in. She took mugs from a cupboard and milk from the refrigerator, aware all the time that Joe Tregenna’s eyes were following her every move. Not that she minded. After charging to her rescue like Sir Galahad he was entitled to a good look at the maiden in distress.
She made coffee, set the mugs on the table, and sat down opposite her visitor, who chuckled suddenly.
‘What’s the joke?’ she asked.
‘I know where you live! I can’t believe I actually said that to the little tyke.’ He grinned at her. ‘Though you weren’t far behind, with your talk of deals and DNA.’
‘The idea was to frighten him in terms from his beloved “telly”. He obviously likes cop shows. So between us let’s hope we’ve diverted our Robbie from a life of crime.’ Fen shrugged. ‘No way could I have handed him over to the police.’
He looked at her thoughtfully as he drank some coffee. ‘Do you make a habit of walking home alone late at night?’
‘Asking for trouble, you mean?’ she retorted. ‘No, I don’t. My car’s in for repairs. And like a fool I didn’t think to ring for a taxi until I’d finished work. By then my customers had snaffled them all, which meant a forty-minute wait.’
‘Customers?’
‘I work behind the bar at the Mitre.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m fairly new in town. I don’t know that one.’
‘It’s a big place on the crossroads, near the area where we dropped Robbie. It used to be a coaching inn, now it’s the “in” place of the moment and very busy.’ Fen shrugged. ‘Which is how I got the job. They were desperate for staff.’
‘How long have you worked there?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘Long enough to know that a trudge home is bad news after a double shift on my feet. In future I drive or take taxis.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He finished his coffee and got up. ‘It’s a bad idea for any woman to walk alone at night. And for someone with your looks it’s madness,’ he added casually.
Fen took her looks for granted. But Joe Tregenna’s offhand remark pleased her rather a lot. Even with the sting in the tail. ‘It’s not a habit of mine, Mr Tregenna.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t we cut the formality?’
‘Right. Thank you, Joe.’ She smiled, and held out her hand.
He held on to it for a second. ‘I was only too glad to help—’ He broke off as the phone at his belt began beeping. ‘Excuse me.’
Fen busied herself with rinsing the coffee mugs, doing her best to block her ears to what was obviously not the happiest of conversations.
‘For the last time, Melissa,’ she heard Joe say eventually. ‘I was delayed. I’m not even home yet. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Goodnight.’ He looked at Fen. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said brusquely, putting the phone back. ‘I forgot to ring the lady I dined with.’
‘Tell her it was my fault.’
He shook his head, the humour back in his eyes. ‘Somehow, Miss Fen Dysart, I think that would do far more harm than good.’
‘If that’s a compliment, thank you.’ She hesitated for a moment, then gave in to curiosity and asked what had brought him to Pennington.
‘I sell insurance.’
‘Really?’ she said, surprised it wasn’t something more high-powered. ‘Thanks again for coming to my rescue.’
‘My pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Do you live here alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then make sure you lock up securely behind me. Goodnight.’
Because her new home had no shower, Fen was rinsing her hair clean under the bathroom taps when reaction finally caught up with her. Shivering, she pulled the plug, hopped out of the coffin-like tub and wrapped herself in a towelling robe. She switched her hairdryer to the hottest setting, and the moment her hair was dry enough pulled on pyjamas for once and burrowed under the covers. But she took a long time to get to sleep. And when she did dreams woke her and rocketed her bolt upright, sweating and scrabbling for the light switch as she heaped curses on young Robbie’s head for giving her nightmares.
‘You look a bit fragile, Fen,’ said the owner of the Mitre next morning.
She explained about the near-mugging of the night before, and got bawled out by Tim Mathias for not asking someone for a lift home.
‘I didn’t think about it until it was too late. Anyway, I get the car back this afternoon, so no more transport problems.’
Once the lunchtime session was over Fen went to collect her car, then drove back to the Mitre to find Tim using the full battery of his charm on some of his female staff. When Fen asked what was going there was a ripple of laughter and one of them pointed a dramatic finger at her.
‘Fen’s your best bet, Tim,’ said Jilly, grinning. ‘She can do it, no problem.’
‘Do what?’ demanded Fen with suspicion.
Tim eyed his newest recruit speculatively. ‘You know that this is live music night in the piano bar?’
She nodded. ‘But if Martin’s off sick it’s no use asking me to fill in; I can’t play a note.’
‘Martin’s fine. The problem is Diane, our sexy songstress.’ Tim scowled. ‘She’s lost her voice. We’ll have her fans streaming in to spend good money on drinks, but when they find her missing they probably won’t stay to buy more. How the devil did the woman manage to lose her voice in the middle of a heat wave?’
‘I don’t suppose she did it on purpose—’ Fen broke off, staring at him as the penny dropped. ‘Wait a minute. Why are you looking at me?’
‘I’ve heard you singing when no one’s around—not bad at all, in a breathless kind of way.’ Tim grinned. ‘Come on, Fen. It’s only tonight. I’ll get Martin to come in for a quick run-through, now while it’s quiet, then tonight you just croon a few standards into a microphone for a couple of sets. Easy as pie.’
Laughing at the loud encouragement from her joshing colleagues, she shook her head. ‘Not a chance. I’m not good enough.’
‘Of course you are. We’re not talking grand opera. And,’ he added coaxingly, ‘I’ll pay you double your money.’
Fen’s eyebrows rose. ‘You mean that?’
Tim laid a hand on his heart. ‘Would I lie?’
She thought it over, reminding herself why she’d come here asking for a job at the Mitre in the first place. This would add fuel to the fire. And she could certainly do with the money. ‘All right, I’ll do it. But for one night only,’ she added, to cheers from the others.
‘Done,’ said Tim jubilantly. ‘Remember Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys?’
‘Certainly not. I’m too young!’ Fen grinned. ‘Actually, I do remember. But I’m a lanky brunette, not a fragile blonde, and I don’t have a shiny red dress.’ She glanced down at her uniform white blouse and black skirt. ‘Talking of dresses, I suppose I won’t do as I am?’
‘Hell, no,’ said Tim bluntly. ‘Surely you can come up with something sexy, like the stuff Diane wears?’
‘A beanpole like me?’ she jeered. ‘I don’t do sexy. But if I can dash home after my session with Martin, I’ll find something.’
‘Take a couple of hours. You’re not due on until eight-thirty.’
The rehearsal went well enough to earn Fen a round of applause from everyone in earshot as the staff prepared for the evening. She got by largely because the songs were familiar, her memory for lyrics was good, and Martin was a skilful, sympathetic accompanist who gave useful tips on how to steal a breath in certain places. But, with her ears buzzing with Gershwin standards on the way to the car park later, doubts set in.
She had to be mad! The adventures of the night before had obviously addled her brain. Martin had assured her that her husky, breathless style was very easy on the ear, but it was sheer audacity, just the same, to perform for an audience used to an experienced performer like Diane. On the other hand, Fen thought philosophically, she could never resist a challenge.
Back at the house, she scribbled the lyrics on a sheet of paper small enough to hide on top of the piano, in case she dried, then took a critical look at a brief, clinging black dress with narrow straps holding up the low cowled top. Deciding it would have to do, Fen took a breather with a sandwich and a mug of coffee before her bath, then began transforming herself into a cabaret act.
She applied an extra layer of foundation and blusher, accentuated her eyes with smoky green shadow and two coats of mascara, then brushed her curling dark hair loose on her shoulders. She surveyed the result in the mirror. The dress clung to her boyishly narrow hips, added a touch of welcome emphasis to her breasts, and left a lot of suntanned leg bare. Fen shrugged. Not bad, though a lot different from voluptuous blonde Diane, who was given to plunging necklines and glittery dresses long enough to hide her thick ankles.
When Fen arrived back at the Mitre, Jilly followed her into the staffroom and let out a loud whistle of appreciation.
‘Gosh, Fen, you look terrific. I never noticed your eyes were green before. Diane would be mad as fire if she could see you.’
‘I’m more concerned with how I’ll sound than the way I look!’ said Fen, exchanging trainers for stilt-heeled black sandals.
‘Don’t worry.’ Jilly patted her on the shoulder. ‘The male punters will be too busy looking at those gorgeous tanned legs to care, dearie.’
Tim Mathias was equally enthusiastic when Fen reported for duty. ‘You look fantastic,’ he said jubilantly. ‘Thanks a lot. There’s a bigger crowd than usual in there tonight.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Martin assured her, when Fen handed him her crib sheet of lyrics.
‘Can you hide them where I can take a look if I forget?’ she said urgently.
‘Will do.’ He patted her shoulder, glanced at his watch, and made for the door. ‘I’m on. See you in a few minutes.’
‘Want a drink, Fen?’ said Tim.
‘No, thanks.’ Fen took in a deep, unsteady breath as the sound of Martin’s piano came through the speakers. ‘I just hope I don’t make a hash of it.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Tim smiled encouragingly as a skilled arpeggio from Martin finished his short selection from the shows. ‘There’s your cue. Break a leg.’
Fen waited, heart hammering, at the back of the small piano stage, while Martin apologised for Diane’s indisposition, then gave the audience the glad news that at the last minute another artiste had been persuaded to sing for them instead.
‘Let’s have a big hand for the lovely Fenella!’
Fen experienced a surge of unadulterated panic, survived it, heaved in a deep breath and stepped, smiling, onto the small, raised platform.
Martin gave her an encouraging wink as he began the familiar opening to a Gershwin melody. Fen smiled at him gratefully, checked that her crib sheet was in place, leaned into the curve of the grand piano, and began to sing.
At the end of the third song the applause was loud and enthusiastic, with shouts of ‘Encore’. Martin promised more later instead, and took Fen’s hand to bow.
Back in the office Fen sat down abruptly, her knees trembling now the first hurdle was over.
‘That was just brilliant, Fen,’ said Tim, elated. ‘You went over really well. Drink?’
‘Just water, please—I got rather hot in there.’
Martin grinned. ‘You weren’t the only one. When you pleaded for someone to watch over you quite a few blokes in there were panting to volunteer. One, in particular, couldn’t take his eyes off you.’
‘I was too busy concentrating to notice,’ said Fen, and drained the glass thirstily.
Tim looked worried as he told Martin about the mugging incident the night before. ‘You be extra careful tonight, Fen.’
‘One thing you can be sure of, boss dear. I’m in no danger from my mugger of last night,’ she assured him. ‘He’s probably tucked up in bed by now.’
When Martin left them to do his second stint at the piano Grace Mathias came in to add her congratulations.
‘You were a big hit, Fen. Quite a few of my diners went off to the piano bar afterwards.’ She smiled at her husband. ‘While they paid their bills I casually mentioned that we had a new attraction tonight.’
‘What a businesswoman you are,’ he said fondly.
‘So get me a glass of something extravagant while I listen in peace to Fen’s second set,’ she said promptly.
‘Don’t expect too much, Grace,’ warned Fen as she renewed her lipstick. ‘Peggy Lee I’m not.’ She jumped to her feet, tugged the clinging dress into place, then braced herself as her cue came through the sound system. ‘That’s me. Wish me luck.’
This time round Fen felt less nervous when she joined Martin at the piano. She smiled into the audience, which had grown considerably since the first set, then caught sight of a familiar face at the entrance, and instead of leaning against the grand piano perched herself on top of it as Martin began the introduction to a classic Cole Porter favourite. They followed it with Jerome Kern, then ended the set with Hoagy Carmichael’s ‘Skylark’, which taxed Fen’s untrained voice to the limit as she breathed, rather than sang, the last three ascending notes. Afterwards the applause was wildly enthusiastic, with loud demands for encores. But Fen shook her head, smiling, and kissed her hand to them as Martin, grinning from ear to ear, helped her down.
She felt drained as he took her back to receive warm thanks from Tim and Grace, plus some teasing from the three of them about her perch on the piano for the second set.
‘I thought I’d give the punters value for money,’ Fen said airily. She refused offers of drinks, accepted her fee, confirmed that her car was parked right outside the door, said her goodnights, then went off to exchange a word with some of the other girls before leaving.
When she reached the side door later Fen’s heart gave a thump. A tall man stood barring her way, as expected. She stared up defiantly into dark eyes which held such furious disapproval she felt a surge of triumph. ‘Hi,’ she said casually. ‘I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.’
‘Obviously,’ he said through his teeth. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
‘Not playing. Working for my living.’ Fen brushed past him, heading for the door, but he caught her by the hand and swung her round.
‘Not so fast, my girl—’
‘Problems, Fen?’ said a familiar voice, and she turned to find Joe Tregenna smiling at her. ‘Is this guy giving you trouble?’
‘It’s OK, Joe. No problem,’ said Fen, freeing herself. ‘He’s a relative.’
Adam Dysart controlled himself with obvious effort. ‘Look,’ he said to Joe Tregenna, ‘this is a family thing. Would you excuse us? I need to talk to Fenny.’
‘But I don’t want to talk to you,’ she retorted, and smiled warmly at Joe as she took his hand. ‘Thanks for coming to take me home.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said, without missing a beat. ‘Won’t you introduce us?’
‘Unnecessary,’ said Fen curtly, and, turning her back on Adam Dysart, she hurried Joe off.
‘Sorry to land you in it again, Joe,’ she muttered, casting a look behind her. ‘A bit late in the day to ask, I know, but are you on your own?’
‘Fortunately, yes,’ he said, amused.
‘That’s a relief.’ She smiled at him. ‘This is a bit cheeky of me, but could you possibly drive me round for a bit? I don’t want Adam to know where I live.’
‘Of course. Better still, why not come to my place for a drink until the coast is clear?’ said Joe as he led her to his car. ‘Unless—’
‘Unless what?’ she asked absently, straining to see if Adam was in sight.
‘Unless that guy’s your husband. Because if so I’m not getting involved.’
She glared at him. ‘Adam Dysart is most definitely not my husband. He’s—’ She halted, suddenly deflated. ‘He’s just a cousin.’
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