Page 113 of The Love Letter
‘I really don’t. I . . .’ Close up, Marcus could see that Ian’s eyes were bloodshot. The man was off his head with anger and booze. ‘C-can you let me go and we can talk about this rationally?’
A punch in the stomach sent Marcus reeling towards the sofa. His head hit the wall and he saw stars.
‘Steady on, mate! We’re on the same side, remember?’
Ian laughed. ‘I hardly think so.’
Marcus struggled upright and watched as Ian paced around the room.
‘She’s gone somewhere, hasn’t she?’ Ian demanded. ‘She’s on the trail.’
‘What trail? I—’
Ian advanced towards him and landed a kick in Marcus’s groin, which sent him rolling around on the floor, howling in pain.
‘It would be a good idea if you told me. I know you’re covering up for her, protecting her.’
‘No! Really. I—’
A kick in the kidneys produced further yells of pain and Marcus vomited copiously.
‘What were the two of you planning? Tell me?’
‘Nothing. I . . .’ Marcus could take no more and he searched his mind desperately for something to tell Ian in order to get rid of him and put him off the scent. Then he had a brainwave. ‘We were going to Ireland this weekend. I told her that’s where I thought Sir James originally came from.’
‘Where in Ireland?’
‘County Cork . . .’
‘What part?’
Ian crouched down and peered into his face, his fist at the ready. ‘Just tell me, mate, because I can do a lot worse.’
‘I . . .’ Marcus struggled to remember the name of the place. ‘Rosscarbery.’
‘I’ll make some calls. If I find out you’re lying, I’ll be back, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Marcus gasped.
Ian made a snorting sound that could have been laughter, pity, or a mixture of both. ‘You were always a coward at school. You haven’t changed, Marcus, have you?’ Ian aimed the tip of his toe at Marcus’s nose. Marcus cringed as the toe swung wide and hit a cheek. ‘Be seeing you.’
Marcus listened for the door closing behind Ian, then rolled onto his knees, moving his jaw from side to side and cursing with the pain. He managed to heave himself upright and sat slumped against the sofa staring into space, his face, his groin and his stomach throbbing.
‘Jesus!’
Thank God he’d managed to come up with the Ireland line. Of course, Ian would be back when he discovered Joanna wasn’t there – it was the last place on earth she’d go if she thought there was any chance ofhimbeing there – but at least he’d be prepared. Maybe he should go and stay with Zoe for a while until this blew over . . .
Then a sudden surge of fear settled on Marcus’s already painful chest. What if shedidgo . . . ? No . . . After all, why would she? On the other hand, Ian had said she was still on the trail . . .
‘Christ!’
Had he just unwittingly thrown Joanna to a mentally unstable and drunken lion? Marcus dashed to the kitchen, and rifled through the pile of papers to find the telephone number for the hotel he’d booked them into, then picked up the receiver.
Simon whistled along to Ella Fitzgerald as he drove down the motorway towards Berkshire and Jamie’s school. The few days he’d had off waiting for instructions had been long overdue. He felt rested and calmer than he had done for a while, even if the spare time had given him the opportunity to think about Zoe. On the upside, he knew that the spectre of Sarah had been washed away. On the downside, he knew those feelings had been transferred and magnified a thousand-fold. Even the fact that he was seeing Zoe’s son in half an hour’s time filled him with illicit pleasure, because it was contact by proxy with her.
Having made sure to locate a restaurant that purported to serve excellent Sunday lunches, Simon drove Jamie towards it, along the narrow country lanes. Confused at having been taken out to lunch by Simon, Jamie was quieter than he had been at home in London.
‘I’ll have the beef, I think.’ Simon perused the menu and looked at Jamie. ‘You?’
