Page 24 of The Love Letter
‘He’s right, Jo. Come on, let’s get you out of here.’ Simon put an arm round her shoulders and led her out of the front door, down the path and into his car. She slumped into the front seat. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he turned on the engine. As he pulled out from the kerb, his headlights caught the number plate of a car parked on the other side of the road.How very odd, he thought, as he swung the car left, and glanced into the darkened interior of the vehicle. It was probably just coincidence, he told himself, as he drove up the hill towards his flat.
But he’d check it out tomorrow anyway.
7
The telephone rang just as Zoe had finished mopping the floor.
‘Damn!’ She sprinted across the kitchen, her footprints appearing on the damp tiles, and reached the phone just before the answering machine clicked on.
‘I’m here,’ she said breathlessly, hopefully.
‘It’s me.’
‘Oh, hi, Marcus.’
‘Don’t sound so pleased to hear from me, will you?’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’m only returning your call, anyway,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes. Do you want to pop round this evening for a drink?’
‘Sure. Have you spoken to Dad?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘Tell you later,’ she replied distractedly.
‘Okay. See you around seven.’
Zoe slammed the receiver down and let out a howl of frustration. Time was running short. Next week she was off on location to Norfolk to begin shootingTess. He only had the Welbeck Street landline number – neither of them had had mobile phones all those years ago – and if her grandfather had answered the phone, he’d called himself ‘Sid’; she couldn’t remember exactly why, but they’d both giggled about it.
The fact that she wasn’t going tobein London to answer it, coupled with the fact that she’d be in a small Norfolk village where he’d be so horribly noticeable, meant he wouldn’t come to visit her anyway. And then it would drift and the moment would be gone. Zoe didn’t think she could stand it.
‘Please,pleasering,’ she begged the telephone.
She glanced at her reflection in the corner of a mirror and sighed. She looked pale and drained. She’d done what she always did in times of high tension and crisis: she’d cleaned and scrubbed and polished and dusted manically, trying to wear herself out to keep herself from dwelling on the situation.
And . . . she had begun to realise she was totally unused to being alone, which wasn’t helping either. Up until two months ago, there’d always been James to talk to. God, she missed him. And Jamie. She was only grateful that shehaddone as James had asked and accepted the part of Tess, especially as the call she so longed for looked more and more unlikely as each day passed.
Marcus rang the doorbell at half past seven that evening and Zoe greeted him at the door.
‘’Lo, Zo.’
She eyed him. ‘You been drinking?’
‘Only a couple, honest.’
‘A couple of bottles from the looks of you.’ Zoe led Marcus into the sitting room. ‘Coffee to sober you up?’
‘Whisky if you’ve got it.’
‘Fine.’ Too weary to argue, Zoe went to the drinks cabinet, an ugly antique walnut thing, with heavy cabriole legs that she was always tripping over – and probably worth a fortune. She must remember to call an assessor and update the inventory of the house contents for insurance, now that James was gone. Maybe she could sell some of the finer pieces to aid the house renovation. Finding the whisky, she filled a tumbler a quarter full and handed it to her brother.
‘Come on, sis. That’s a bit of a stingy measure.’
