Diana Hamilton - Sweet Sinner

Which gave her something else to fret about, because every year he stayed for the reunion weekend with his old friend from National Service days. Jack Foster and his wife Elaine lived in the Birmingham suburb of Solihull and after the reunion dinner and dance they had Sunday to get over it, plenty of things to reminisce about, to catch up on over a pint at the local, followed by one of Elaine’s apparently memorable Sunday roasts.

But Dad would have to miss out on his relaxing full day with his friend, Zoe thought regretfully, waving until he rounded the corner. But they had both agreed that Petra needed the break…

Suddenly aware that the household behind her was ominously quiet, she made her sore legs carry her up the steps at a run. And she had been right in guessing there was mischief afoot because both the tiny boys were practically upended in one of Hannah’s boxes, unpacking the contents with mountains of glee and little method.

‘No! Naughty!’ she admonished as sternly as she could, hooking an arm round each small body and hauling them out, rescuing a coat hanger from Rickie’s clinging fingers just as Hannah and Gary came slowly down the stairs, breathing hard, carrying the dressing-table from what had been Zoe’s room between them.

Halfway down they stopped for a breather and Hannah poked her rumpled head over the banisters.

‘Gary said you were looking after your sister’s kids this weekend so we thought we’d help move your stuff.’ She smiled shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but…’ Her voice tailed off and Zoe took up,

‘But you want me out of the way, shut away in the basement so you two can play house,’ The smile in her voice robbed her words of any sting and the boys began to race round the hall on sturdy legs, chortling like wild things. The ‘bumping from stair to stair’ downward progress of the dressing-table had kept them quiet and enthralled but the journey had come to a standstill, and that was boring.

But the sudden eruption of Jenna into the hall, clad in what appeared to be a gauzy patterned throwover shirt and nothing else, closely followed by a tall, lanky guy who had to be the actress’s newest date, had them scampering for safety, clinging, shyly burying their flushed faces in Zoe’s skirt.

The sooner she changed into a pair of old jeans, the better, Zoe thought, absently patting two lint-blond heads, though how that would be accomplished when her possessions appeared to be in transit, with a goodly proportion wedged permanently on the stairs, she had no idea. She was beginning to get a headache.

She smiled tentatively at the lanky guy who smiled warily back. And Jenna crooned, ‘Zoe, my pet—meet Henry.’ She stroked the side of his lean face lingeringly. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous? I do believe I might marry him. At least,’ she batted fabulous lashes, ‘I shall move in with him to avoid having to share that meagre basement. No offence, Zoe, my pet—but really! Oi, you two,’ she hollered up the staircase. ‘Come down at once. I want your opinion.’

A distracted grunt was the only reply and Zoe wondered just what was going on behind that dressing-table, and Jenna patted Henry’s backside lovingly, ordering, ‘Do lend a hand, otherwise they’ll be there all day.’

It’s a madhouse, Zoe thought, subsiding on to the hall chair, feeling hot and bothered in her neat office gear as the midsummer sun poured in through the open hall door.

She dragged the twins up on her lap, out of the way, as Henry took one end of the recalcitrant piece of furniture and began to tug and Jenna shouted above the din.

‘My lovely room will look like a used furniture emporium! How much more do you think you’ll try to fit in?’ But the furniture removers ignored her and Zoe wondered whether to tell her not to worry because any time now she would be moving out herself, just as soon as she’d finished saving for a deposit on a place of her own. Now that Petra had a well paid job to go to, she would be able to afford it.

She closed her eyes briefly, picturing it—somewhere fairly central, peaceful, a place for everything and everything in its place, nothing pandemonic about it—and the moment had gone. No chance to tell Jenna anything as the dressing-table came to rest at the foot of the stairs and the actress clapped her hands and commanded, ‘Gather round folks, I want advice.’

Henry dusted off his hands and the upward drift of his wide bony shoulders seemed to say, She’s impossible, but cute. Then Hannah and Gary emerged, their hands twined together, and Hannah, despite the wildness of her curly dark hair, looked cool and lovely in brief lemon-yellow shorts which showed off her endless legs and a skimpy sleeveless top.

‘Right!’ Jenna flashed her wide white smile when she had their undivided attention. ‘You know about my part in this TV drama, and I guess I have to concede it’s only walk on, walk off and half a dozen tiny words. But I aim to make a big impression, folks! So I’ve got to look re-all-y ——’ she spun the word out ‘—sexy, with a capital S. I appear at a poolside, right? I think I look sexier with this cover-up——’ she tweaked the edges of the diaphanous shirt ‘—sort of alluring—some mystery, you know.’ Briefly, she paraded up and down the cluttered limits of the hall. ‘But Henry here says it’s better without——’ She stopped, shrugging out of the filmy shirt, holding her arms dramatically wide, revealing ripely voluptuous curves in a bikini so small it was barely there. ‘So——?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘What do you guys think?’

Catcalls and whistles, someone—probably Gary—was stamping his feet, and Zoe closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears, too, to shut out the din, and wished she had never been born when that unmistakable voice said with the cool precision she was beginning to dread, ‘I have no wish to sound offensive, but don’t you think your activities should be conducted more discreetly?’

The sudden strained silence made Zoe’s heart pound. She went hot all over, perspiration soaking the neat white blouse she wore beneath her suit jacket. It took a lot of courage to turn her head. Slowly.

James Cade was standing in the open hall doorway, impeccably suited against the background of the dusty street. Cool, collected and in control. Utterly. Dominating his audience.

The austerely beautiful features betrayed nothing, not a thing, not even disdain, and the cold grey eyes took in every single thing, labelling it, filing it away inside that clever brain. Everything. Jenna, posing, unashamedly near-naked; Gary and Hannah clinging together, one of Gary’s hands, shocked by the disruptive advent of the stranger to complete immobility, curving around Hannah’s pert breast; the clutter, the unbelievable clutter—boxes and bags, the abandoned dressing-table leaning drunkenly against one wall.

‘Want something?’ Gary was the first to recover. His hand slid down to Hannah’s waist and his jaw was belligerent. ‘You’re on private property.’

‘As your antics are clearly visible from the street I imagined privacy was the last thing you bothered about.’ James Cade was visibly unimpressed by Gary’s pugnacious stance. His hands were thrust negligently into the trouser pockets of the superbly tailored lightweight suit he wore and, with the sunlight behind him, his features were more darkly dangerous than even Zoe remembered them.

Her arms tightened around the twins and she shivered. And the shiver turned into a shudder that went souldeep as the voice that was insolent in its coolness imparted, ‘I want a private word with Miss Kilgerran.’

Unaware of the questioning look Gary shot in her direction, Zoe gulped. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She shook her head, hoping he’d disappear. But he didn’t. He had tracked her down and there could be only one reason for that.