I don’t know …’ Emma shrugged. ‘This and that. Er—have you had lunch?’
‘No. I’ll have a sandwich here later.’ She frowned. ‘Emma, I don’t want to probe, but if there’s something worrying you, don’t you think you should tell me? We’ve been friends a long time, and I’ve known your family for years. If there’s something troubling you …’
‘Why should you think there’s something troubling me?’ Emma reached for her own suede coat and slipped her arms into the sleeves, and without waiting for an answer, added: ‘What sort of sandwich do you want? Ham or cheese?’
‘Ham, please.’ Gilda rose to her feet. ‘Emma, you’re not having trouble with David again, are you? I mean—well, he’s not being more objectionable than usual, is he?’
‘No!’ Emma pressed her lips together tightly. Then, as if suddenly coming to a decision, she said shortly: ‘It was Jordan. He rang.’
‘Jordan Kyle!’ Gilda’s eyes widened disbelievingly.
‘Do I know any other Jordan?’ demanded Emma, with an attempt at levity. Then, tautly: ‘Yes, of course. Jordan Kyle.’
Gilda breathed a sigh. ‘Am I permitted to ask why he telephoned?’
‘He asked me to have dinner with him.’
‘He what?’
‘Yes, I was surprised, too.’ Emma shifted awkwardly. ‘But there you are. The unexpected sometimes happens.’
‘Yes.’ Gilda regarded the girl opposite her with an anxious expression. ‘And did you agree?’
‘Heavens, no!’ Emma was glad she could speak honestly. ‘I told him I didn’t want to have dinner with him. Besides,’ she paused, ‘David wouldn’t approve, would he?’
‘No,’ Gilda agreed dryly. ‘But then David isn’t likely to approve of you doing anything that might upset his scheme of things.’
‘Oh, Gilda!’ Emma sighed. ‘I know you don’t like David. I know you have reason not to do so. But please, don’t put me in the middle, like a bone between two dogs.’
Gilda shrugged. ‘All right. Let’s leave David, for the time being. Why did Jordan invite you to dinner?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me.’
‘I see,’ Gilda nodded. ‘As enigmatic as usual. I wonder what’s going on? Do you think he still finds you attractive?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ Emma headed determinedly for the door. ‘The only thing Jordan Kyle ever found attractive was Tryle Transmissions, and you know it.’
‘Really?’ Gilda resumed her seat. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
Unwillingly, Emma was intrigued. ‘What—what do you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Gilda flicked over the pages of an inventory. ‘Go get your lunch. And don’t forget my sandwich. I’ll have ham today.’ She chuckled. ‘I feel like a lion, not a mouse.’
‘Gilda!’ Emma clenched her fists, and as the woman looked up, she added: ‘What do you know? What have you heard about Jordan? Is he involved with some girl? Is she married?’
‘Does it matter to you?’ Gilda’s eyes softened. ‘Oh, yes, I can see it does. Emma!’ The tone was reproving now. ‘I thought you’d got over all that foolishness.’
‘I have.’ Emma held up her head. ‘But I’ve known Jordan all my life. Naturally I’m—interested in what happens to him.’
‘All right.’ Gilda picked up a pencil and toyed with it thoughtfully. ‘He’s been seen around with Stacey Albert. You know—her father has a controlling interest in—–’
‘—A.C.I. Yes, I know.’ Emma nodded jerkily. ‘The computer corporation.’ She paused. ‘Oh! Well, I didn’t know that.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Are they—getting married?’
‘Perhaps. Your Mr Kyle doesn’t seem too eager to tie himself into that kind of situation, does he? I mean, he’s what? Thirty-six? Thirty-seven? Quite old not to have been married already.’
The skin over Emma’s cheekbones felt tight. ‘Yes, well—like I said, the company was always his first and last love.’
‘Maybe no longer,’ observed Gilda wryly, but Emma reserved her opinion. Even so, the possibility of Jordan being involved with another woman still had the power to weaken her knees.
The antique shop stood in the High Street. Because Abingford’s history dated back to feudal times, its size and reputation had spread, and in the season it was flooded with visitors from both sides of the Atlantic. Its timbered buildings were world-famous, and its cathedral dreamed beside the placid waters of the River Avon. It was near enough to Stratford, and the other attractions of the Cotswolds, to merit half a dozen decent hotels, but it still maintained the atmosphere of the country town it had always been. It was far enough from London not to attract a commuter population, yet near enough for a day’s visit using the efficient rail link. Emma had lived there all her life—at least, apart from the two years she had lived in London; and her family had lived in the district for as long as she could remember.
Today, as she hurried along the High Street and turned into Hunter’s Mews, however, she was paying little attention to her surroundings. Not even the east wind, bringing with it little flurries of snow, could distract her from the chaotic turmoil of her thoughts, and she had passed the butcher’s shop before she realised she needed to call in there. Turning back, she bought the fillet steak David liked grilled to a juicy rareness, and then hastened on towards Mellor Terrace.
Before Emma and David were married, David’s mother had lived in the house in this pleasant Georgian terrace, but when the wedding was planned, she had insisted on finding a flat and giving the house to her son as a wedding gift. In consequence, its furnishings were rather old-fashioned, with lots of dark furniture in rooms that were themselves inclined to be gloomy. Emma had planned to change all that. She and David had discussed interior decorating and colour schemes in those few short weeks of their engagement, but afterwards—after disaster had struck—he had lost all interest in changing anything. On the contrary, he seemed to cling to those things that were familiar with an almost obsessive grasp, and the idea of going against his wishes was unthinkable. Even so, there were times when Emma felt her mother-in-law’s hand in the matter, and guessed that Mrs Ingram was using David’s disability to her own advantage. She had always been a possessive woman, and the abnormality of their marriage made her position that much stronger.
Letting herself into the house in Mellor Terrace, Emma immediately sensed the presence of the only other person who had a key to her home. It was an intangible awareness compounded of their mutual antipathy, and the more physical evidence of her mother-in-law’s slightly cloying perfume. Attar of roses drifted along the hall, and with it the murmured sound of voices.
Emma was removing her coat when the wheels of David’s chair heralded his emergence from the living room. His hands on the wheels brought the chair to an abrupt halt when he saw her, and his pale features assumed the somewhat peevish air he invariably adopted with her these days.
‘You’re late,’
