Page 89 of Electric Kiss

“Yes,” Jennifer replied, her face solemn. “You’ll want to take this.”

“No one knows I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Jonathan said from the side of the pool. His muscular arms rested on the concrete as he caught his breath.

“There’s a phone call for me. But only you, Benny, and Jennifer know how to contact me.”

Jennifer cleared her throat. “There is one person who knows how to contact me. He doesn’t know where this is, but would know by the dialling code it’s Italy. I gave it to him, just in case.”

Jennifer spoke quietly. Her eyes darted to Jonathan and then Cynthia, seeking forgiveness, but her expression was imploring Cynthia to take the call.

“Who is on the phone?”

“Please, Cyn, take the call.”

“Is it my father calling?”

“Take the call,” Jennifer pleaded.

Jonathan pulled his body out of the pool and grabbed the towel on the lounger next to hers. He quickly dried off and then scrubbed at his full head of white hair. For a moment, Cynthia forgot she had a call to take, no doubt telling her that her father was dead. She admired Jonathan, someone she wanted to call her husband, but he refused to marry her. Once she’d taken the call, he would have no more excuses. They would be free of the burden of her father’s rules, and they could all go back to Turner Hall to live out their lives.

“I’ll come up with you,” Jonathan said, giving her a soft smile.

“It’s going to be the news we’ve been waiting for,” she whispered.

“Let’s worry about what comes next later. Take the call,” he coaxed.

She swung her legs to the side of the lounger, straightened her loose white blouse and grabbed her oversized sun hat. Once she was standing, Jonathan grabbed the hat and tossed it on the spare lounger next to where she was sitting.

“You don’t need a hat to take the call, Cynthia. Let’s go.”

Jonathan threaded his fingers through hers and held on tight as she marched along the concrete and then up the stone steps to Jennifer, who hadn’t moved a muscle. They all had mobile phones, so why they had called the landline was a mystery to her. Why hadn’t they called Jennifer on her mobile phone? The inconvenience of having to walk to find out her father was dead irritated her.

She reached the marble side table in the foyer of the villa. Cynthia glanced at the lead-lined double doors which led out to the front but couldn’t focus on them. The handset of the landline phone was lying on its side next to the rotary-style base. Everything was old-fashioned in the villa. Cynthia loved that. When she buried her father, she would instruct the staff at Turner Hall never to modernise a thing.

Picking up the receiver, she pressed the handset against her torso and cleared her throat. Then, glancing in the large ornate mirror hanging above the marble table, she patted her French pleat even though there wasn’t a hair out of place.

“Hello,” she said.

Jonathan squeezed her hand.

“Ms Turner?”

“Yes, Bailey, it’s Cynthia Turner.”

Bailey cleared his throat at the other end of the line. “Your father asked to get hold of you. I didn’t know how to, so I called Jennifer to see if she knew where you were.”

“Now you’ve found me. What did my father want me to know?”

“I’m sorry to tell you that Mr Turner is dead.”

“Did my father talk to you from beyond the grave?” Cynthia clipped out, not understanding.

“Mr Frederick Turner.”

Cynthia dropped the handset, and it hit the marble floor once, then swung like a hangman’s noose. She turned a quarter footstep and then staggered a few steps. Jonathan caught her and brought her into a tight hug.

“Jenny, pick up that handset, will you?” Jonathan said.

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