9,59 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
'A pacy page-turner with a ripping plot and characters you care about' Daily Mail When novelist Sophie Carr rescues a man from a group of paparazzi, she finds that her new neighbour is ageing pop star Jez Winter. She has loved his music for years and knows he has had a tough time lately, with a violent intruder and then a car accident putting his ability to play music at risk. Life's not been easy for Sophie either, losing her husband just as she was taking off as a novelist and having her hands full with her children. While Jez and Sophie's families continue to complicate their lives, Sophie also has a secret to hide. One that makes her very wary of getting involved with Jez ..
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 445
Ähnliche
Chestnut Lane
Anna Jacobs
Contents
Chapter One
Sophie was strolling through her garden when she saw a man standing under the huge horse chestnut tree that overhung the wall to mesh branches with a similar tree next door. If he’d been facing her way she’d have run, but he had his back to her and didn’t seem at all interested in her house. He was standing on a garden seat, hidden by the mass of leaves, peering over the wall at the house next door.
She stopped dead, wondering what to do. He must have come through the old wooden gate that led next door but it was closed now. Was he hiding from someone or spying on them? Curiosity kept her standing there even though she knew the sensible thing would be to creep quietly back indoors and call for help.
But she wasn’t the sensible type, as her son pointed out regularly. William was still furious that she’d wasted her money on such a large house – not necessary for one person, he insisted regularly – but she loved living there. It wasn’t for the prestige of a Chestnut Lane address, but because the house had spacious rooms and a larger than average garden and that felt good.
Curious, she hid behind a bush. As she watched, the man rubbed a hand to and fro across his forehead as if he was tired and had a headache. He stiffened suddenly and she too heard something from the direction in which he was gazing – men’s lowered voices, meant only for one another to hear. But sounds carried clearly in the still air of an early spring day.
The stranger’s fists clenched, then he stepped off the bench and swung round, his eyes scanning the garden as if looking for somewhere to hide. As he began to limp slowly towards her, his face was revealed, showing recent scarring on one side. She gasped in surprise as she realised who he was: Jez Winter! No doubt about it.
Why was one of the most famous rock stars of her youth creeping round her garden? He didn’t do much performing these days but still had the ability to turn out albums that sold steadily, and when he gave one of his rare concerts, he filled the biggest venues to overflowing. She loved his music and owned all his albums. That hawk-like face was hard to forget and the years hadn’t dimmed its appeal to her or to many other women.
Her gasp made him turn sharply in her direction, so she moved out from behind the bush and stood motionless. She hoped that showed him she meant no harm, but she had no idea what to do next.
As he saw her, his lips mouthed, ‘Oh, hell!’ and he froze, swaying a little, his face so pale it seemed as if his features had been drawn on white paper with a charcoal stick.
From behind the boundary fence one man called, ‘I’m sure he went that way. Let’s go after him. I’m not losing a good story now.’ Footsteps began moving towards them again.
That must be the press, who had been in the news themselves for hounding Winter, trying to get photos of his injuries. Even Sophie, who didn’t pay much attention to the doings of celebrities, knew about that.
It was the way her trespasser’s shoulders slumped that touched her heart and made up her mind. Placing one forefinger on her lips, she beckoned with the other hand.
He stared at her so numbly she had to repeat the gesture before he mouthed, ‘Thanks,’ and moved forward.
She led the way back to the house, walking on the grass instead of the paths, trying not to make any noise. As they got near the kitchen door, she heard a voice call, ‘There’s a gate here!’
Unlocking the rear door, she went quickly inside and waited for Jez to join her before locking the door carefully behind them. She’d had a burglar soon after she moved in the previous year, so she never, ever left an outer door or window unlocked, not even if she was only walking round her own garden. That seemed very sad, but she lived in an upmarket area and she’d accepted the fact that it made her more of a target for burglars.
‘Come through into my sitting room. It looks out onto an internal courtyard, so you’ll be safe from prying eyes there.’
He followed her, limping slightly. ‘I’m grateful.’
She gestured to a chair. ‘Do sit down. You look exhausted.’
‘I am. It’s taking longer to recover than I’d expected. I thought I’d covered my tracks today, but those sods seem to be psychic about sussing out where I’m going.’ He studied her face and said with a wry smile, ‘You recognised me.’
‘Hard not to. I enjoy your music, have done for years. And when you had the accident, it headed the TV news for a few days, as have your visits to hospital for plastic surgery. I didn’t know they’d let you out of hospital after the latest.’
‘They haven’t. I let myself out early this morning, couldn’t face another day penned up in there. Thank goodness this was the last operation. The gutter press had been baying at the door for days and if I hadn’t had a bodyguard outside my room, that fellow presently lurking next door would have got his precious photo of this and earned a fortune at my expense.’ His voice was bitter as he jerked a thumb towards the scarred side of his face.
He stared blindly into the distance for a moment or two then said in a voice that grated with frustration, ‘I’ll pay you well to let me stay here until I can get someone from my security team to pick me up.’
She stiffened. ‘Why should I need paying?’
Silence, then his shoulders moved in the tiniest of shrugs. ‘People usually do.’
‘Well, I’d be ashamed to take money from someone in trouble.’
He looked at her properly then, studying her face as if to peel off the layers of skin and find out what she was really thinking. His expression slowly softened, as if he liked what he saw. ‘Then may I please stay here until someone can come and fetch me? I don’t intend to go back to that hospital, but my security staff will have to set up a temporary refuge while I house-hunt. I suppose it’ll have to be a luxury hotel again because the journos know where my old flat is.’ He sighed. ‘And anyway, I hate that place. It’s where I had the intruder. If I hadn’t had the accident shortly afterwards, I’d have found a new home by now.’
She smiled. ‘You’ve had a bad year.’
‘Tell me about it. That’s why I was looking at the house next door. I lost my last home in the divorce settlement, but that place was more to her taste than mine anyway. Well, one big house is much like another, isn’t it?’
She didn’t comment on his public quarrels and the acrimonious break-up with his second wife. That marriage had lasted less than a year. Although his music was beautiful, his private life hadn’t been anything to boast about.
Sophie, on the other hand, had loved her husband dearly and been desolate when he died. Her two grown-up children still missed their father, she knew. She’d made a satisfying new life for herself because you had to move on; you couldn’t bring them back. And ironically, she was quite well off now, hadn’t needed his insurance money, because she was suddenly wildly successful in her own right. ‘Yes, of course you can stay here until your friends come for you. Is the house next door for sale? It’s been empty for so long, I thought they were going to knock it down and build smaller places. Not many people can afford a huge house with staff quarters these days.’
‘It is for sale. They couldn’t get planning permission to knock it down because it’s a listed building. I thought if I viewed it without the usual circus, if I stayed indoors all the time I was there and only looked out at the gardens, then perhaps no one would notice me and I could get a feel for the place. I got details of houses a day or two ago and sent for some of the keys but told them I’d show myself round.’
Another of those bitter twists to his lips. She ached to see anyone so unhappy, especially someone who’d given her so much pleasure. Best to let him talk it out, she decided.
‘They couldn’t send the keys over fast enough, knowing who I was. Anyway, this morning I took a taxi and went out without a minder, something I’ve not done for years. It was no good, though. Those pests must have had people watching the entrance to the hospital delivery area, where I sneaked out, or else someone tipped them off. I didn’t even get inside the house. They turned up just after my taxi left. Luckily I saw them before they saw me, but I must have made too much noise getting away from them or left tracks. That garden’s badly overgrown.’
He closed his eyes for a moment, muttering, ‘I wish to hell they’d leave me alone.’
‘It must be hard living in the limelight all the time.’
‘You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but as you get older you crave a bit of peace.’
He still looked as wary as a cornered animal, she thought. Well, that’s what he was, really. ‘Would you like a coffee while you’re waiting? I was just going to make some. And I have some home-made cake.’
He looked faintly surprised, then nodded. ‘I would, actually. If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘No trouble at all.’
There was a knock on the front door and he stiffened again.
She got up. ‘Better if I answer it, don’t you think? It’d look strange not to.’ She laid one hand on his shoulder as she passed him, could feel the tension there. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t give you away.’
When she opened the door, she found three men waiting, one with a camera at the ready. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Did anyone come to your door?’
‘No, but I did wonder if I heard a noise down that side of the house a few minutes ago.’ She pointed. ‘I thought it was a fox after the birds. I have a feeder out there and—’
Two of them ran off in that direction without a word. Only the third one bothered to toss her a quick ‘Thanks’, before pounding after his colleagues.
Nasty creatures! she thought as she locked the door again. She turned to see her visitor standing in the doorway of her living room.
‘I’m grateful.’
‘You’re welcome. Now, coffee and cake. I’ll bring it through.’
When she carried the tray in, he was slumped in a chair, one hand covering his eyes.
‘Here you are.’
He mustn’t have heard her coming because he jumped in shock, then tried to smile.
‘Don’t,’ she told him gently.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Force a smile. And you needn’t chat at all if you don’t want to. Just sit there quietly and rest. You can test the cake for me and give me your honest opinion. It’s a new skill of mine, baking. I always used to worry about being too big, but now I’ve given up on trying to look like a stick insect. My genes aren’t programmed for it, anyway. I concentrate on enjoying life – though that doesn’t mean I eat a ton of junk food.’
‘That’s the first time I’ve heard a woman say that.’
She grinned. ‘I can’t tell you how comfortable it is to eat what you want. And I’ve not put any weight on. This seems to be my natural size and it’s comfortable to live with, even if it doesn’t suit the fashionistas.’ She poured his coffee, gave him a piece of cake then cut one for herself, looking out at the small water garden in the central courtyard as she ate, not attempting to make conversation.
After a while he put down the mug and empty plate. ‘Thank you. That’s the first food I’ve enjoyed for a long time.’
‘Good. It’s the first almond cake I’ve ever made. It’s hard to find recipes without wheat in them. I’m wheat-intolerant, you see.’
‘Coeliac?’
‘Worse. I seem to be intolerant of all cereals except rice.’
‘Must be a nuisance.’
‘Sometimes. But far worse things than that can happen to a person.’
‘Well, the cake’s delicious, whatever’s in it. Um, would you mind if I—’ He broke off. ‘No, I shouldn’t ask.’
‘Go ahead. I can always say no.’
‘Could I stay here for a bit longer, please? It’s so peaceful. And you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who doesn’t try to fill the silences with babble or pester me with questions about how I’m feeling.’
‘I enjoy silence.’
‘So do I. Which may sound strange coming from a muso.’
‘I don’t think so. We all need peaceful times in our lives. I love your music, by the way.’ She waved one hand towards her CD collection. ‘I have all your albums. Such beautiful melodies. “Tears May Fall” is my favourite track.’
This time his smile was unforced. ‘It’s one of mine, too.’
‘Stay as long as you like.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll be in my office. When you want some company, come and find me. There’s no hurry. I’m at the far end of the corridor. I’m only working on correspondence today, so I can stop and start at will. Oh, and the cloakroom is on the left.’
It was a full hour before she heard movement, first the sound of him limping along the corridor then water flushing in the cloakroom. After that the footsteps came towards her office, so she turned to greet him.
He stood framed in the doorway, still looking utterly exhausted. ‘I’ve just realised I don’t even know your name. I do apologise. It was very rude of me not to ask.’
‘Sophie.’
‘No second name?’
‘Sophie Carr.’
He frowned. ‘That sounds vaguely familiar.’
She picked up one of her books and handed it to him in silence.
‘You’re a novelist.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve not read a novel for ages. I must buy a copy of this. Unless it’s full of angst and violence. I couldn’t stand that at the moment, I’m afraid, however well written.’
She wasn’t surprised. A deranged intruder had broken into his home and held a knife to his throat, then a month later he’d been involved in a car accident, which had badly damaged his left side. ‘You’re quite safe with my books. I write relationships novels. Women’s fiction, they call it sometimes, though men read my stories too and email to tell me they’ve enjoyed them. And the stories always, always have happy endings, because it’s my choice for the hero and heroine to get together.’
His expression was bleak. ‘It’s a nice fantasy – that relationships can be happy, I mean.’
‘My parents were happily married for fifty-nine years. Where’s the fantasy in that?’
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound so negative. But you must admit that’s unusual these days.’
‘I was happily married too, for twenty-seven years.’
‘Was?’
‘Bill died a few years ago. If he hadn’t, we’d still have been together.’
His voice was gentle. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m used to it now, but he just dropped dead one day, so it was a dreadful shock. Heart attack.’ She wasn’t sure her daughter was over it, even now. Andi had been such a daddy’s girl. ‘Anyway, how about some lunch? It’s only leftover chicken and mushroom risotto.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘I’d love to, but I’d better make a phone call first.’
‘To your minders?’ When he nodded, she said quietly, ‘Do it later. Enjoy the meal first.’
The wary look had returned to his face, so she spoke bluntly. ‘I’m not trying to get anything from you. If I can do a good deed – for anyone, anyone at all, doesn’t matter whether they’re rich or poor – I do it willingly. After I lost Bill, my friends were so kind to me, so tolerant of my grief, and they helped me with – other problems. I vowed to pass on that kindness.’ She saw him relax. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth briefly and he put up one hand to brush back his jaw-length hair, a familiar gesture to his fans, something of a trademark. The brown hair was streaked with grey now, but he was still a very attractive man.
‘So I’m your good deed for the day?’
She chuckled. ‘I suppose so. If I pull the blinds down, you could come and sit in the kitchen while I heat the risotto.’
She worked quickly, getting out cheese, rice crackers and a bottle of sparkling water to finish the meal.
He didn’t talk much, but he ate everything she set before him and looked much more relaxed afterwards.
‘I’d forgotten how good simple meals can be,’ he said as he pushed his cheese plate away. ‘That was wonderful. They give me fancy towers of food at the hotel, which look beautiful, but there’s not much substance to them and they’re awkward to eat.’
She chuckled. ‘I know what you mean. They fall all over the plate. Drives me crazy. Shall we take our coffee out into the courtyard? It’s sheltered and sunny, and the wall’s too high for people to see over.’
‘I’d like that. You have a very restful home.’
‘Thank you. It’s what I was trying for.’
‘Did you and your husband live here?’
‘No. I felt it better to have a change once I’d sorted out a few problems and was thinking straight again. My books had taken off by then so I could afford to buy a place on Chestnut Lane.’
When he’d finished the coffee, Jez fell asleep between one sentence and the next, the faint frown that had seemed a permanent fixture smoothing from his forehead as his eyes closed.
She tiptoed away and went back into her office. It had been a strange sort of day.
Poor man. Money didn’t buy you happiness, did it? Well, she’d found that out herself, though she wasn’t in Jez Winter’s league money-wise, nowhere near. It was so unfair that she’d done well as a writer only after Bill’s death, so the husband who’d supported her through all those years of rejections hadn’t reaped the rewards.
A story idea slid into her mind, the way they did sometimes, and she sat very still, letting it flourish and bring other details about the characters with it. Suddenly she knew exactly how she was going to start this new book. Forgetting her guest completely, she created a new computer file and began roughing out the opening scene.
When Jez woke up, he couldn’t think where he was and jerked upright in the comfortable recliner chair, staring round in panic.
It was a book lying on the table that reminded him of his rescue by – what was she called? Oh, yes, Sophie. An unlikely heroine, softly curved, gently spoken and nothing like the elegant, brittle women he seemed to attract these days.
He stood up, wincing at his stiffness. The left side, which had caught the brunt of the car smash, had been damaged in so many ways. He looked down at his hand. The feeling was nearly back in full now, thank heavens. At first it had seemed as if he’d lost the ability to play guitar or piano properly and no amount of reassurances by his specialist and a top physiotherapist that things would improve had taken away that fear. It had haunted many a sleepless night till the improvement began to show and he was able to make music again, albeit very clumsily at first.
His hand was a little less dexterous than it had been but was still improving, and he could play well enough for his own pleasure, not to mention his needs as a composer. He wasn’t a concert pianist or a classical guitarist, after all. Even if he did more gigs – and he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to bother – it was writing music he enjoyed most these days, and recording it in his own studio.
He also jammed occasionally with a few old friends, solely for their own pleasure. When these friends, also famous, were in London, they usually managed a get-together, though that didn’t happen often enough for him.
Half the guys who’d been his friends in the early days were dead now, though. Just like the cliché, they’d succumbed to sex, drugs and rock and roll. He’d tried all those things, too, but had settled for the music. Unlike drugs, it didn’t come back to bite you. And sex was overrated, really. He hadn’t felt much need since he and Cheryl had split.
He walked out of the sitting room, past a wide staircase and along to the cloakroom, then on to the office. Sophie was sitting at the computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard, her shoulder-length, honey-coloured hair gleaming in a stray ray of sunshine, showing occasional silver threads. Not dyed, then. What a pretty colour it was!
She seemed to sense his presence and swung round, her smile as gentle and friendly as everything else about her. He wished … he didn’t know what he wished. But he’d enjoyed her company and her peaceful house so much, he didn’t want to leave. It had been like an oasis in a desert.
‘Enjoy your sleep?’
‘Yes. Very refreshing. But now I really must phone my security staff for help.’
She nodded and turned back to her computer.
In the sitting room he took out his mobile, switching it on and dialling, then watching a bird come to the feeder outside and peck happily away. Someone picked up at the other end before the phone could ring a second time. Kevin. His chief of security and general factotum.
‘Where the hell have you been, Jez?’
‘I slipped the leash and went to visit that big house in Hampstead.’
‘We saw the keys were missing and Craig went there. He found no sign of you.’
‘Yeah, well, the press got on to me and I had to escape.’
‘Where are you now? Somewhere safe, I hope?’
‘I’m next door. I was given refuge by the owner. She’s been really kind.’
‘Why didn’t you ring sooner?’
‘I fell asleep. Best sleep I’ve had for weeks, actually.’
Kevin’s voice softened. ‘That’s good. What number are you at?’
‘Damned if I know. Have to go and ask her. It’s one of a group of four desirable modern residences. Hold on a minute.’ Jez strolled back to the office, feeling guilty about interrupting Sophie again. ‘What’s the number of this house, please?’
She told him, but he could see she was itching to return to her work. ‘I’ll – um, just …’
By the time he reached the door, her fingers were clicking away again. He felt vaguely miffed, then shook his head at himself. Conceited sod! You can’t expect everyone to hang on your words.
The voice on the mobile squawked at him, reminding him of what he’d gone to find out, so he passed on the number to Kevin.
‘I’ll ring you back when we’ve got something arranged. Will she let you stay till then, Jez?’
‘I don’t think she’ll even notice whether I’m here or not.’
‘You must be slipping. Or else she’s over eighty.’
‘She’s younger than me, but she’s got a life. She’s a novelist, Sophie Carr. Have you heard of her?’
‘Yeah. She’s one of my wife’s favourite authors.’
‘Get Donna to buy me her books.’
‘Which ones? She’s written quite a few.’
‘All of them. I need something to do while I’m recovering. You can’t play a guitar all the time.’ And he’d still got a long way to go before he’d be bouncing around the universe again.
He didn’t like to disturb his hostess so wandered through the ground-floor rooms, hoping she wouldn’t mind. It was a big place for one woman. He found a room set up with a walking machine and a TV, a formal dining room that looked unused, and finally, on the other side of the internal courtyard, was a … damned if he knew what that room was for. A shrine was the nearest he could come to defining it.
The room was devoid of furniture, but had a couple of saris in glowing shades of deep rose pink, dull purple and rich blue draped across the two windowless walls, and a two-foot-high Buddha sitting serenely on a low, ornately carved table. A vase in front of it held one perfect flower. There was a stained-glass panel in the window, floor to ceiling, showing lush tropical flowers. It cast jewel-coloured patches of light everywhere. Something as beautiful as that must have cost a fortune. With the saris, the whole room was glowing with colour, not garish, very harmonious.
On the floor was a quilted piece, like no rug he’d ever seen, with curving patterns and different textures in shades of white on white, coloured only by light falling through the stained glass.
He had an inexplicable urge to sit on that rug and close his eyes. But he didn’t want to intrude on her private place, so went back to ask her if he could make himself a cup of coffee.
‘Go ahead. And have another piece of cake. There’s plenty.’
‘Do you want a cup?’
‘Mmm? No, thanks.’
And she was typing away again.
The phone rang as he was walking back to the kitchen and he heard her answering it, telling someone not to come round today.
He smiled wryly. He’d have liked to find out more about her, but could understand what was driving her. He was just the same when he was writing a song, working out the words and arrangement, impatient of interruptions.
A dark limo arrived an hour later and turned in to the drive. Hearing it, Jez lifted the corner of the kitchen blind to peer out. Before the limo had even stopped in front of the house the three journalists came running along the street to the gate.
Craig, his assistant minder, got out and stayed at the gate, arms folded, keeping them at bay, looking mean and powerful. Jez grinned. Craig wouldn’t hurt a fly, fought only in self-defence, but no one need know that.
Kevin got out of the limo, by which time Jez had opened the front door. ‘Just a minute.’ He went back to his hostess. ‘Sorry to interrupt you again, but they’ve come for me.’
Sophie swung round and blinked as if roused from a deep sleep, then smiled. She seemed to smile a lot.
‘Sorry. When an idea takes me, I forget about the rest of the world.’
‘I’m like that when I’m writing music.’
‘You’ll forgive me for being a poor hostess, then?’
‘You’ve been a wonderful hostess, given me a few hours of real peace. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘I’ll see you out.’ She walked with him to the door. Cameras flashed from the gates and she looked towards them in surprise. ‘Are they still here?’
‘Ignore them. This is Kevin, my minder, or chief of security if you want his posh title.’
She shook hands, giving Kevin another of her lovely smiles, then turned back to Jez. ‘Good luck with the house-hunting.’
He held her hand in his for a bit longer than he should have. It was as soft and warm as a plump little bird and he didn’t want to let go. ‘Thank you for everything.’
‘It was my pleasure.’
Again the cameras flashed and he saw her wince. He supposed they’d now have their photo of his ravaged face. And her with him. Damn, he should have thought of that and told her to stay inside. Suddenly, protecting his face didn’t seem half as important as protecting her and the haven she’d created here.
He wanted what she had, a peaceful home where you could simply relax. He’d make that his next priority.
He was sorry when the front door shut behind her, sorry to be back in a limo behind tinted glass that made the whole world seem shadowed. There was more flashing of cameras as they drove out of the gates. As he turned to look back at the house, he saw the group of journalists move purposefully up the drive towards it.
‘Maybe we should go back and help her?’
‘It’ll make things worse if we do,’ Kevin said. ‘Anyway, she won’t be stupid enough to open her door to them.’
It took a minute or two for the sound to register with Sophie. She looked round in puzzlement. How long had someone been knocking? She glanced at her watch, surprised that only a few minutes since Jez left. He must have forgotten something.
She hurried to answer the door. It didn’t take long to see that it wasn’t him, but the press.
‘He’s left,’ she said and moved to close the door.
A foot shot past her to jam it open. As she turned to remonstrate, camera lights flashed. She shoved the foot aside and tried again to close the door, only now it was a hand that was holding it open.
She froze for a few seconds, nothing in her experience having taught her how to deal with this sort of thing. While she hesitated, the door was pushed further open and she began to feel frightened. ‘Please get out of my house!’
The man holding the door open ignored her request, his expression feral – there was no other word to describe it. It was as if he was the hunter and she the prey.
‘Get out of my house and off my property,’ she repeated, trying to close the door.
‘Just tell us what it’s like being Jez Winter’s lover?’ he asked. ‘Is he good in bed? Is his temper as bad as they say? Has he ever thumped you?’
She gaped at him in shock, unable to believe these were serious questions. The man beside him started shouting at her, his voice a blare of meaningless sound.
The third man, who was her own age, pushed forward. She thought he was going to barge right into her house, but instead he elbowed the intruder away.
‘You’re out of order, Talbin.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘Sorry, love. I’m Peter Shane from In Depth. If you ever want to do a real interview, without the smut, call me.’ He pressed a card into her hand. ‘Better close the door now.’
She did so, grateful for his help, leaning against the inside of the door for a moment because her knees felt wobbly. Voices still yammered outside, two men having an argument from the sounds of it. ‘Stop being such a wimp!’ she told herself and went to telephone the local police station, explaining her dilemma.
In a short time she heard a siren, then the sound of tyres on the drive. After that an authoritative voice outside told the group of men to leave the premises.
There was a knock on the door and this time she used the spyhole to check who it was before she opened it, relieved to see the uniformed police officer.
‘Are you all right, Ms Carr? Can we come in for a minute?’ The man flashed his ID and his companion did the same with hers.
Sophie held the door open. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly. I was a bit worried when one of those men wouldn’t let me close the door.’ Though it was the man’s expression that had frightened her most. He’d looked cruel, enjoying a moment of power. Thank heavens for the other fellow, Peter Shane, who had at least been courteous!
‘Better be careful how you open the door from now on, Ms Carr. Care to explain what this is all about?’
‘Yes. Come and sit down.’ She explained what had happened that day, shuddering again as she relived the feeling of being hunted and trapped.
‘Is Jez Winter likely to be coming back?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. It was just a chance meeting, because I could help him out. I’d never met him before. I’m doubly glad I did help, now that I’ve seen what those horrible people can be like.’
‘You’re quite famous yourself,’ the female officer said with a smile.
‘Not that sort of fame, and I wouldn’t want it, either. It’s my books that go out and face the public. I only give talks occasionally, and not to people like that.’
‘You should think about getting some automatic gates with an intercom fitted to your drive,’ the male officer said. ‘Those fellows won’t give up for some time if they think you’re involved with Winter. Anyway, a famous woman living on her own is always a target. I hope you have a good security system here?’
‘Er – no.’
‘Might be worth getting one installed.’
When they’d left, Sophie made sure every external door and window was locked and went into her meditation room. She lit a joss stick, set it in front of the statue of the Buddha, inclined her head in a gesture of respect for what he represented, then sat down on the quilt cross-legged.
She sighed in relief as the familiar feeling of peace washed through her. She wasn’t a Buddhist, wasn’t anything really, but she loved meditating. And she was very fond of this particular statue of the Buddha, which she’d found one bleak day when she had felt there to be no hope in the world. His serene smile had seemed to promise her a brighter future so she’d bought the statue.
It had meant a lot to her to set up this meditation room and its peaceful atmosphere always calmed her down.
Gradually, her body relaxed and she let her mind float, not thinking, not worrying, just being. When she came out of the meditation, she felt in tune with herself again, ready to write for another hour or two, strong enough to ignore outside annoyances.
Chapter Two
Andi Carr sat on the bus, fuming about the reprimand she’d just received from her boss and worrying about his warning to shape up or ship out. He’d even asked her whether she was using drugs. As if it was any business of his what she did in her spare time.
If she had anywhere else to go, she’d hand in her notice straight away and not wait to be pushed, but her mother refused to let her live in the new house, even though it was plenty big enough for six people, let alone two. Her mother didn’t seem to care that she was unhappy. She had tons of money these days, but never thought to toss a few thousand in the direction of her children. Mean, her mother was.
If Andi’s father had still been alive – tears came into her eyes at the mere thought of him – he would have helped her out and looked after her till she found a halfway decent job where they didn’t think they owned you body and soul. Just because she’d been late for work a few times! She’d stayed on at the end of the day to make up for it, hadn’t she, dealing with customer complaints and doing any other odd jobs her boss loaded onto her? Work as a general dogsbody wasn’t the be-all and end-all of life.
She wasn’t sure what was. There didn’t seem much point to it, really, which was why she’d not gone on to university. Her father had done everything right and had still died just after fifty. He hadn’t benefited from his wife’s success at all. As for Andi’s brother, William was a stick-in-the-mud and his wife was even worse, a real control-freak.
Enjoying each day was the best you could do with your life, Andi reckoned, which meant making the most of your leisure time, and she certainly knew how to party.
She got off the bus at her usual stop then remembered it was her turn to cook tea. Cursing under her breath, she turned round and walked along to the local supermarket. She didn’t dare get ready-cooked food again, or even a takeaway pizza. Her flatmates were both into Healthy Eatingin a big way. She was sick of hearing those two words, spoken reverently as if they always had capital letters. She bought the bits and pieces she needed, saving the receipt for the housekeeping jar.
Why had she lumbered herself with such picky people to share with? Because she hadn’t wanted any more flatmates who skipped out without paying their rent and electricity bills, that’s why. She’d thought the original two guys fun at first, but came home one day to find they’d upped sticks and gone, taking some of her possessions with them. Her mother had had to help out that time, because otherwise the rental agent would have thrown her out of this flat. But her mother had pulled a sour face over it and made Andi feel like a real loser.
After that, she’d chosen two people with good jobs and a sensible attitude to life to share with, pretending she agreed with them. Which she didn’t. But dull people were much safer when it came to paying up and they pulled their weight in the house, as well. Her mother had trained her too well. Andi couldn’t live in a pigsty, or even a semi-pigsty, had been horrified at how some people lived when she first moved out of home.
Ross was back already. She could see the light under his bedroom door when she went up to change out of her work clothes, and hear his radio going, some boring talk show. What a nerd he was! Hardly ever went out and spent most of his time playing with his computer.
She went into the kitchen and got down the jar of housekeeping money. After counting out what was owed to her, she began to put the meal together. She’d have to ask her mum for some more recipes. Her flatmates were complaining about too much pasta and Bolognese sauce. Well, they’d have to put up with it today. It was all she could think of and it was easy to make. At least she’d bought a lettuce to go with it. You couldn’t get much greener than that!
She’d be forced to stay in tonight. Not only was she short of money till payday, but no one had asked her out on a date for ages. Most of her girlfriends had started going steady in the past few months. They were fools. They’d end up with bellies full of babies, slaving after their families, worrying about their mortgages. Andi wasn’t going down that track. No way. Though she did like kids, especially the little ones. How could you not? But you could give other people’s kids back again, which you couldn’t with your own.
Anyway, she’d made some new friends lately, who were good fun to go out with, if a trifle expensive. And they’d introduced her to a club where the music was excellent and the drinks quite cheap, considering.
Maybe she’d go round to visit her mother tonight. It was only a few stops away on the Underground. She could usually count on bringing back a chunk of home-made cake these days, which would do for tomorrow’s lunch. She didn’t share her mum’s cakes with her flatmates; they were too good to waste on others.
Thank goodness she could eat what she liked and didn’t have a weight problem like her mum, who was fat by today’s standards. It was no use Mum talking about that old film star Marilyn Monroe. People knew better these days than to let themselves put on any weight. Andi had suggested dieting, but her mum didn’t care what size she was, didn’t seem to care about anything except her stupid books.
On that thought, Andi picked up her mobile and dialled. ‘Hi, Mum. How’s the writing going?’ She listened to the news of her mother’s latest book sales, studying her nail varnish as she did so, then when a suitable amount of chit-chat had been got through, asked, ‘Can I come round to see you tonight?’
There was silence, then, ‘I’m afraid not. I’m busy.’
‘Doing what? Something interesting?’
‘Just staying in with a friend – chilling out, don’t you call it?’
‘Oh.’
‘Another time, Andi.’
She put down the phone, wondering who her mother’s friend was. Probably another oldie. These middle-aged women certainly stuck together. Her mother had probably forgotten what it was like to go out with a guy but at least she hadn’t remarried. Andi hoped she never would. It’d be – wrong. That was the one thing she agreed with her brother about. No one could live up to their dad and anyway, neither of them wanted a stepfather spending all Mum’s money, which would be theirs one day.
What a boring life her mother was leading, though, staring at a computer day after day! What was the point of earning big time if you didn’t go to glamorous parties, hobnob with celebrities or jet around the world? Actually, Andi didn’t really enjoy the books her mother wrote. They weren’t at all like real life. Ordinary people didn’t meet Prince Charmings. The breed was extinct. Frogs had completely overrun the male world, frogs who pestered you for sex when you didn’t want it.
Sighing, she finished cooking and called the others down to eat. Not even a bottle of wine to take the edge off the evening. Ross and Ginny only drank occasionally, so booze didn’t come out of the housekeeping budget, and Andi couldn’t afford to buy any this week.
Life sucked lately, absolutely sucked, had done ever since her father died.
When she was too tired to write any more, Sophie ate a simple meal and sat down to enjoy a book she’d been meaning to read for ages.
The phone rang and she checked the caller ID, relaxing when she saw it was William. He usually rang once or twice a week and popped across to see her sometimes at the weekend with Kerry and the children. He was so like his father physically it hurt sometimes to look at him, but he was more like Sophie’s father than Bill, clever but tight with his money and watchful for the best advantage whatever the situation. She had no doubt he’d already calculated what she was worth, what he’d inherit one day.
As for her daughter-in-law, try as she might Sophie couldn’t like her, or the way she was bringing up their children. The oldest girl was nearly three, a quiet little thing, too quiet if you asked Sophie. The new baby was only two months old, so the family visits hadn’t been as frequent as usual lately. Which was a relief.
‘Hi, William. How lovely to—’
‘Are you all right, Mum?’
‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask in that tone?’
‘Did you know you were on the television news tonight?’
‘Oh, no! They didn’t!’
‘Are you really having an affair with Jez Winter?’
‘Of course not!’
‘I didn’t think you were, but that’s what they implied. You’re not his type, not glamorous enough, and anyway, you’re a bit old for him.’
She stiffened. Why did both her children seem to think she was too decrepit and unattractive to get a sex life? ‘Forty-nine isn’t that old, actually, and Jez Winter is about the same age.’
‘Oh.’ Silence, then, ‘So there is something in that news item?’
‘I’m not having an affair with him, or with anyone else. Jez Winter took refuge here today when some horrible journalists were chasing him, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t know he was an acquaintance of yours.’
‘He isn’t. He was looking round the house next door, which is for sale, and they cornered him. All I did was give him shelter.’ It was amazing how disapproving silence could sound. ‘William? I can hear your brain ticking. What are you thinking?’
‘I’m just – surprised you’d get involved, that’s all. I’ve told you to be careful who you invite into the house, but you don’t seem to listen to me. And have you done anything about a security system yet? What you should really be doing is downsizing. That place of yours is far too big for one person. I never could understand why you bought it. A flat would have been much more sensible at your age.’
She wasn’t going down that path again. She liked spacious houses and gardens and would hate to live in a flat. William was no doubt quoting his wife, who was jealous of the house and always made snide remarks when she came round. ‘The police recommended me to get a security system, after they’d sent those horrible journalists away, so I suppose I’d better do something about it.’
‘They were right. Do you want me to look into it for you?’
‘No, thank you. I’m quite capable of doing that myself. Now, enough about me. How are Kerry and the children?’
‘They’re well. I’ll email you the latest photo of the baby. She’s gorgeous, just as pretty as her big sister.’ A sharp voice sounded in the background and he said quickly, ‘I won’t keep you. I hadn’t intended to ring tonight but when I saw you on the TV, I was worried.’
After she’d put the phone down, Sophie looked at her watch. The late-night news would be on in ten minutes. Surely she wasn’t important enough to be on it again? Surely it had just been a passing shot of her earlier on and William had picked up on it because he knew her?
But to her dismay, she was featured on the news, looking scared stiff as she tried to close the door. Groaning, she watched it to the end then switched off.
The phone rang again. Andi. She picked it up reluctantly.
‘Mum, you didn’t say it was Jez Winter you were spending the evening with. He’s really cool, for an oldie. How long have you known him? Will you introduce me?’
Sophie explained yet again what had happened, then cut Andi off. ‘I was just going to bed. Got a lot to do tomorrow.’
‘Can I come over tomorrow night and get the hot goss on Jez Winter?’
‘No. I’ve just started a new story and I don’t want any interruptions.’
‘I bet you’ll be seeing him again.’
‘I won’t, actually. Bye.’She slammed the phone down and started getting ready for bed. It rang twice more, calls from girlfriends she’d known since school, but she didn’t feel like speaking to them or anyone else, so let the answering service take care of it.
She had trouble getting to sleep, kept wondering if she’d heard an intruder. She’d definitely have to get a security system installed now. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford one, she just hadn’t wanted the disruption to her daily life that installing it would bring.
Admitting that the encounter with the pushy journalists had spooked her, she got up and shoved a chair behind the door. Feeling safer, she fell asleep, but dreamed of Jez Winter, seeing again how sad he was. In the dreams she put her arms round him and gave him a good hug, as you would an unhappy child.
Honestly, how stupid could dreams get? As if he’d want her to hug him. As if she’d even see him or hear from him again.
Jez was in his new hotel suite when the TV news came on. He was about to switch it off but heard his own name and stared in horror at the screen. Sophie had opened the door again and been cornered by those sods. She looked terrified, poor thing. Why had she not checked who was outside?
He remembered her transparently honest face. She probably didn’t understand how the gutter press could hound you. Oh, hell, this was all his fault! He should have followed his instincts and gone back to make sure she was all right. Those devils wouldn’t stop bugging her for days now. What a sorry return she’d got for helping him.
Kevin, who was on duty tonight, came in from the other bedroom. ‘Seen it?’
‘Yes.’ Jez waved one hand at the screen. ‘We have to help her out, make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘She’ll probably be glad of the publicity, sell a lot more books.’
‘She’s not like that.’
Kevin made a rude noise. ‘Of course she is.’
‘No, this one isn’t. She’s – otherworldly, naive even.’
Kevin screwed up his face in thought. ‘She’s certainly not with it as far as clothes are concerned and she needs to lose quite a bit of weight. You’d think her publicist would have told her that.’
Jez was surprised by this comment. ‘I don’t think she’s overweight. She’s just right. I’m tired of scrawny women who live on salads and bottled water. It’s like cuddling a bag of bones, making love to them. And your wife isn’t all that skinny, Kev.’
‘My wife isn’t a celebrity, thank goodness.’ He studied Jez. ‘Do you fancy this Carr woman?’
‘We’ve only met once, for heaven’s sake. I just … like her … very much. And she was kind to me. So I owe her.’
Kevin shrugged. ‘Not your concern now. She’ll probably dine out for years on the story of how she gave you refuge.’
Jez seemed to hear Sophie’s voice, saying, If I can do a good deed – for anyone, anyone at all, rich as well as poor people – I do it willingly. ‘I think it is my business. She’d not be having this trouble if it weren’t for me.’
‘You can’t go round there again. That’d make things worse.’
‘No, but I’ll send Donna to see her tomorrow.’ His personal assistant was a capable young woman, loyal, intelligent and very with it. He paid her and his other staff well over the odds to keep their loyalty. ‘She can help Sophie sort out what to do.’
‘Good idea.’
‘I’m going to bed now.’
‘About time. The doctors said you should take things easy.’
‘That’s what I’ve been bloody well doing. I’m fed up of lying around. I need to get myself a proper home, and the sooner the better. We’ll put Donna back on the job of finding me a house after she’s seen Sophie.’
With that settled, Jez went to bed, sighing in relief as he lay down between the fine cotton sheets, his body aching more than he’d admitted to the doctor or Kevin. He wasn’t sure he’d fooled either of them, though.
In the middle of the night he woke, as he often did, lying in the darkness with the day’s events churning round in his mind. But most of all it was Sophie Carr who was occupying centre stage in his thoughts. He really hated to think of such a gentle person suffering because she’d helped him out.
He couldn’t dismiss the incident, whatever Kevin said. He was responsible for her present troubles.
Who was responsible for his own troubles? Himself? Partly. He’d wondered so many times how he’d got to this point in life, alone in the world, no family or significant other, as they called it these days. And no idea of where he was going next. What were ageing rock stars supposed to do with themselves when they retired from public life? If they were wise enough to retire, that was.
But even if he stopped performing, he could never retire from the music that continually ran through his head. He didn’t want to.
Actually, he did have a family, sort of – an illegitimate son, the fruit of a misspent youth. He’d not married the mother, though he’d offered, but she hadn’t wanted to. She was from a very religious family and their brief affair hadn’t changed her devotion to her church. She’d tried to get him involved, but he wasn’t into religion.
He felt sad that he’d never known the boy, though, because it also meant he’d never met his two young grandchildren. He grinned, amused at how fans would react to the news that he was a grandfather twice over.
His main problem in life was that he was lonely. He had more than enough money, but no one to enjoy it with. He wasn’t getting married again, though. He might not be the world’s worst husband, but he wasn’t in the A league, that was sure.
