Anne Mather - Nights of Passion

I’ll bet, thought Rachel drily, and not just because of that. ‘Okay,’ she responded. ‘I expect she’ll give you a ring later.’

‘Hmph.’ Evelyn Carlyle snorted. ‘Well, remind her to do it, will you? We always like to know she’s safely home.’

‘I will.’

Rachel couldn’t believe she was getting off so lightly, but just as she was about to put down the receiver, Evelyn spoke again. ‘So—what did you think of him? Had he only come to reassure you about Daisy’s trip? He lives in Florida, doesn’t he? It’s good of him to offer to escort her, don’t you think?’

Rachel pressed her lips together. But only briefly. ‘Very good,’ she managed, not prepared to get into the details with Evelyn right now. To her relief, she heard a key being inserted in the front door. ‘Oh, this sounds like Daisy now. Speak to you later.’

This time she put the receiver down before Evelyn could say anything else and stood, feeling ridiculously apprehensive as Daisy let herself into the house. The girl looked round expectantly, and then, when her mother didn’t say anything, she exclaimed, ‘Don’t tell me he’s gone!’

‘Afraid so.’ Rachel forced a smile and walked back into the kitchen. The two coffee mugs on the drainer seemed to reproach her, and Daisy, following her, gave an indignant cry.

‘You gave him coffee?’

Rachel busied herself with tidying the counter. ‘Shouldn’t I have done?’ she asked lightly. ‘I always offer visitors coffee, you know that.’

‘So why isn’t he still here? Grandma only rang about twenty minutes ago.’

‘I know.’

‘So what? Didn’t he like the coffee?’

Rachel sighed and said carefully, ‘We’d already had a conversation before your grandmother phoned. You must know that, too. You were at the supermarket when you met Mrs Freeman, weren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Daisy sounded sulky now.

‘Well, then.’

‘What I don’t understand is why you didn’t ring me and tell me he was here.’ Daisy scowled. ‘You knew I’d like to meet him again.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, well, I suppose we’ll have plenty of time to talk on the flight.’

She turned away, but now Rachel felt a twinge of impatience. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said tightly. ‘On the flight to Florida. In his private plane.’

If she’d had any doubts that Daisy knew what she was talking about they’d have been extinguished at that moment. Her daughter’s face suffused with colour, and she couldn’t have looked any more guilty if she’d tried.

‘He told you,’ she said lamely, and Rachel felt a disappointed hollowing in her stomach.

‘Unlike you,’ she said, regarding Daisy with cool eyes. ‘I assume your father informed you of the arrangement?’

‘Well, yes.’ Daisy hunched her shoulders, looking suddenly much younger than her years. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘And … what? You decided to keep it to yourself?’

‘Dad said you probably wouldn’t understand.’ She hesitated. ‘He said there was no need for you to know.’

‘Oh, Daisy!’

‘I know.’ Daisy bit into her lower lip. ‘But, well, I didn’t think it was that important.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me anyway?’

Daisy shrugged.

‘Because you knew how I’d react,’ Rachel answered for her. ‘Really, Daisy, I thought we were always honest with one another.’

‘We are.’

‘Except when your father asks you not to be, apparently,’ declared Rachel tersely, aware she was breaking her own rules about not slagging off Steve to his daughter. ‘Oh, well, it’s done now. But I have to tell you, it’s something I need to think about and I’ve told Mr Mendez the same.’

Daisy gasped now. ‘You mean you’ve implied you might not agree to my going with him?’

Rachel refused to feel cowed. ‘I’ve said I’ll ring him after I’ve spoken with you.’ She paused, and then added defensively, ‘What did you expect me to say, Daisy? That I’ve got no objections to you flying for—what?—twelve hours in a plane with a man I hardly know?’

‘Daddy says it’s about nine hours, actually.’

‘Well nine hours, then.’ Rachel felt angry again. ‘Oh, yes, your father knew what he was doing when he asked you not to tell me what was going on.’

Daisy’s lips pursed. ‘It’s not like Mr Mendez is a—a pervert or something.’

‘All right. I’ll admit he seems respectable enough …’

‘Respectable!’ Daisy scoffed.

‘But I should have been given the full story, not just your father’s edited version.’

‘I know.’ Daisy sighed. ‘I tried to tell him that. Like, in my emails. But you know what he’s like.’

Not any more, mused Rachel, aware of a surprising wave of relief at the thought. Suddenly the memory of her exusband seemed distant and indistinct, usurped by the image of a man whose raw sexuality had assaulted her senses in a way Steve never had.

Not wanting Daisy to detect what she was thinking and attribute any of it to her father, Rachel drew a deep breath and opened the door of the fridge. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I’ve said I’ll think about it, and I will. Now, what would you like for lunch? I have to warn you, I expected you to have lunch at Grandma’s, so I don’t have anything special to offer you.’

Daisy seemed anxious now. But not about her lunch. ‘You’re not thinking of changing your mind, are you, Mum?’ she asked, and Rachel wondered how sincere her daughter’s offer not to go to Florida had really been. ‘I mean, you liked him, didn’t you?’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Mendez.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘He seemed very nice.’ And how insincere was that? ‘But that has nothing to do with it.’

Daisy was looking really worried, and despite her resentment towards Steve for putting her in this situation, Rachel felt a reluctant surge of sympathy for her. She was only thirteen, after all, and she didn’t deserve to suffer because of their marital politics.

‘Just leave it for now,’ she said, taking a carton of eggs out of the fridge to avoid looking at her daughter. ‘How about pancakes? Or would you prefer take-out?’

The subject was dropped but not forgotten. It was only four days until Daisy was due to leave for Florida, and Rachel knew she couldn’t delay indefinitely.

After lunch, Daisy disappeared up to her room and Rachel wondered if she was emailing her father with the latest developments. She spent the afternoon expecting an irate email from her ex-husband, but when she checked her mail before closing the computer there were only two messages: one from a friend in London and the other from her agent.

Supper was not a comfortable meal. Rachel opened a bottle of red wine that she’d been saving for a special occasion—but with Daisy only pushing her pasta round her plate, giving her mother soulful looks every time their eyes met, the effort was wasted.

Eventually, after blocking every opening her mother tried to make, Daisy said, ‘How’s your book going?’ and Rachel was so taken aback she could hardly think of a response. Daisy had never shown any interest in her writing before, regarding it in much the same light as any child regarded a parent’s occupation.

‘Um—it’s going okay,’ she said at last, getting up to pour herself another glass of Merlot. ‘I expect I’ll get it finished while you’re away.’

‘So I am going, then?’ Daisy pounced on the admission.

‘I expect so.’ Rachel wished she hadn’t brought the subject up again.

‘Oh, good.’ Daisy leant forward and attacked her plate with renewed enthusiasm. ‘I knew you wouldn’t really stop me from going.’

Rachel shook her head, but she didn’t deny it. How could she? But she did intend to speak to her ex-husband about the arrangements as soon as Daisy was asleep.