True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) (34 page)

‘And here he is,’ I announce breezily.  I can’t have him listening in to any more of that marriage stuff.

Sara turns.  ‘How much of that did you hear?’

‘Enough.’

Rotating slowly and following his every move, she watches him carefully as he comes to stand by my side.

‘You’d better call for that taxi, Maya,’ she mutters.

‘No need,’ Dan interrupts, touching me on the arm.  ‘I’ll take Sara back to the station.’

‘What?’ she splutters, confused by the sudden change of plan.  ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’  He gives me a gentle smile.  ‘Let’s get working on those friendly terms.’

‘I don’t know.’  Sara shakes her head.

‘I do,’ Dan insists.  ‘It’s called fast-tracking.’

***

Almost two hours later, I’m still waiting for his return.  Standing in front of the triptych with my mobile in my hand, I’d love to get back to painting … but I can’t.  Partly consumed by thoughts of what might be kicking off between Dan and Sara, and partly fretting over the text I’ve just received, I can barely concentrate on anything.  Half wishing I’d never gone back to Limmingham, I read over the text again.

I’d really like to come down and see Dan.  It’s important.  Can you help?

Of course I can help.  But should I?  I know she’s desperate to meet up with her brother, but what with everything else going on in his life, is he really in a position to see Layla?  Hearing a movement behind me, I turn to find him seated on the sofa, legs crossed, gazing at me.

‘How did it go?’ I ask tentatively, shoving the phone into my pocket.

‘Fine.’ He twiddles the car keys.  ‘She made it safely onto her train.’

‘That’s not what I mean.  Did you talk?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘Fine.’  He blinks, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s saying.  ‘We’re fine.’

I’d love to grill him for details, but even I know there are sections of his life he needs to keep to himself.

He stands and stretches.  ‘I really need to get some work done now, but I’ll be finished by six.  And then I’m thinking food, film and fuck.  How does that sound?’

‘Fantastic,’ I grin.

‘Then it’s a plan,’ he grins back.

I point at the triptych.  ‘I’ll get on with this.’

I waver, wondering if I really should throw out the next question.  But I just can’t help it.

‘You’ve forgiven her then?’

The grin fades.

‘We’ve made a start.’

‘Well …’ I venture, my voice giving way to nerves.  I’m thinking of that text again.  ‘If you can do it with my sister, I’m sure you can do the same with your own.’

His eyes flicker with thought.  He nods slightly.

‘I’m sure I can.’

It’s been three days since Boyd’s last appearance.  Three whole days of relative peace.  While Dan’s returned to work, leaving me with a clutch of bodyguards, I’ve busied myself on the paintings.  And by night, in between the endless love making, we’ve settled into the routine of cohabitation, slowly shaping ourselves to each other, fitting together the jigsaw of two separate lives and discovering along the way that the pieces fit just fine.  And so, with things settling down, I’m finally seeing more of the world to come, and the more I see, the more I love it.  By Friday, if it wasn’t for the constant presence of bulky men outside the front door, I could kid myself that life has slid into some sort of normality.

***

I’m in the studio, staring at the image in front of me, satisfied that I’ve managed to unlock the key to the centre panel, with Dan’s help.  I’m gazing at the outline of a man, no one in particular to the casual observer … but not to me.  I know his body so well.  From memory, I’ve captured the definition of his neck, the slope of his shoulders, the power of his upper arms.  But I’ve kept his face in the shadows, his features indistinguishable.  Turning his back on the pain and angling his head to the left, this is Daniel Foster in all his glory.  I let out a quiet breath of satisfaction.  Over the last week, I’ve made good progress with the triptych, tying the three pictures together with light and colour, and now I can move on to the finer details.  Picking up a palette knife, I focus in on his face, wondering exactly how I’m going to define his expression.

I’m drifting away in a world of possibilities when a buzzing sound interferes with my concentration.  At first, I do my best to ignore it, but it’s persistent.  Putting down the knife, I make my way downstairs, tracing the source of the noise to the intercom.  I press a button on the unit, thankfully the right one, and the concierge’s disembodied voice greets me.

‘Miss Scotton.  There’s somebody here to see you.’

I blink at the intercom, confused.  I’m certainly not expecting anyone.  I check the clock on the oven.  It’s just after four.  So, maybe it’s Lucy.  Seeing as it’s Friday, she’s probably left work early, and now she’s swinging by on her way to see Clive.

‘Who is it?’

‘Layla Keene.’

At first, I’m thrown by the surname.  It takes me a few seconds to register the fact that Dan’s sister is waiting for me downstairs, a few more seconds before tremors of anxiety begin to pass right through me.

‘Layla?’  And now I gaze at the intercom, totally bewildered.

Since her first text, we’ve been in touch but no arrangements have been made.  Over and over again, I’ve reassured her that I’ve been waiting for the right moment to broach the subject of a reunion with Dan, and as yet that moment simply hasn’t arrived.

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

Collecting my keys, I tug open the front door and find an unexpected surprise outside: stuffed into a chair and staring straight ahead at the lift, it’s Beefy.

‘You’re back!’

‘I am.’  His big face screws up into a smile, and then he stands, looming over me.  I just want to throw my arms around him and give him a hug, but that would be totally inappropriate.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Good.  The head’s all better.’  He knocks his knuckles against his skull.

‘Glad to hear it.  I’m sorry about what happened.’

‘It’s not your fault.  There were two of them.  Big buggers.’

‘So, it’s just you today?’  I don’t even know why I’m asking.  Ever since Boyd’s last appearance, the bodyguards have been steadily growing in number.

He shakes his head.  ‘There’s another bloke in the lobby.  One more outside.’

‘Jesus, this must be costing a bomb.’

‘It’s just prudent, miss.’

‘Of course,’ I smile, wondering how to word the next bit.  ‘Listen, Beefy.  I’ve got a visitor, and I really don’t want you to tell Dan about her.’

He frowns.

‘But I need to fill him in on everything.’

‘Not this, you don’t.  It’s his sister.’

‘I still have to …’

‘No, you don’t,’ I cut in, thinking on my feet.  ‘We’re planning a surprise for him and if you let on, it’s going to ruin everything.’

His lips pucker.

‘And you’d better let the other two know,’ I press on.  ‘They’re not to say a word.’

‘I’m not sure about that ....’

He digs into his pocket, searching for his mobile, probably with the aim of texting Dan.  Keep calm, I tell myself, holding out a hand.

‘Seriously, Beefy.  What harm can it do?’

‘I don’t want to get sacked again.’

‘You won’t.’  I nearly choke on my own words.  After all, I may well be talking a load of bollocks.  The beef monster huffs and puffs.  And then he sighs.

‘Alright then.’

Relief floods through me.

‘Thank you.  I’ll pay you back.  I promise.’

As I ride the lift, the tremors grow in force.  Mentally, I skim back through the texts we’ve exchanged over the last few days: Layla increasingly eager to see her brother; me gently reassuring her that I’m waiting for the right time.  But now, from her end at least, the waiting seems to be over.  We’ve reached a crisis point, and if I’d been thinking clearly, I would have seen it coming.  The door slides open and I make my way out into the lobby.

Bleary-eyed, Layla rises from her seat and launches straight into an apology.

‘I’m sorry, Maya.  I should have let you know but I thought you’d put me off, and I needed to come.’

I glance at the bodyguard, the concierge, and then smile at Layla.

‘It’s okay.  Come up to the apartment.  We’ll talk.’

After delivering a strict warning to the men that Mr Foster is to know nothing about my visitor, we take the lift in silence.  On the way back into the apartment, I shake my head at Beefy for good measure.

‘Have a seat.’  I motion towards the breakfast bar.

Taking off her jacket, Layla positions herself on a stool.

‘Wow.’  She surveys the lower floor of the apartment.  ‘This is amazing.  He really has made it, hasn’t he?’

‘He’s done alright,’ I agree, sitting opposite her.

‘I’m proud of him.’  She pauses.  ‘And I’m glad he’s got you.’

But for how much longer will he want me when he finds out I’ve been meddling behind his back?  Suddenly, I’m hit by the enormity of it all.  If Dan comes home to his sister, I risk losing the best thing I’ve ever had in my life.  And if I’d never gone back to Limmingham, I wouldn’t be in this pickle.  Jesus, I’m an idiot.

‘So, what’s brought you here?’

She swallows, fresh tears glistening in her eyes.

‘You know what I said about time?  I don’t know how much we’ve got.’  She gulps in a breath.  ‘Sophie’s been diagnosed with cancer.’

Oh shit.

‘I’m so sorry.’

She shakes her head.

‘Breast cancer.  Early stage.  Her odds are good, but it’s freaked me out … and it’s freaked her out too.  She’s a single mum.  She’s got a little girl.’

I fumble for something to say, and find nothing.

‘I should have called,’ she goes on.  ‘I only found out this morning, and I just …’  The tears tumble down her cheeks.

‘It’s okay.’  I reach out and touch her hand.

‘You told me to be patient, but I can’t be patient, not any more.  I need to see him.  I need to tell him.  I just left the kids with my husband and got on a train.’

‘It’s fine.  Honestly, it’s fine,’ I lie, glancing back at the clock.  Dan promised he’d be home just after five and it’s already half four.  It’s not fine at all.

‘It’s at times like this when you just have to put things behind you.  Sophie wants him back as much as I do.’

My forehead creases.  ‘But I thought she didn’t believe those things about your dad.’

‘Denial’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’  She smiles.  ‘It can be your best friend.  It can keep you safe, keep you sane.’  She pauses.  The smile disappears.  ‘But it’s fragile.  All it takes is something like this – a shock, a wake-up call – and it all comes crumbling down.  She asked me to contact him.  I couldn’t refuse.’

‘And you want to meet him today?’

She nods.

‘Layla, I don’t know.’  I get up and pace across the kitchen.  I can barely believe what’s happening.  Just when I thought I’d manage to regain some control over my life, it’s being snatched away.  The tremors evolve, threatening to give way to a full-blown quake.  ‘If you’d told me, I could have paved the way.  I could have talked him into another meeting.’

‘Sophie can’t wait.  She’s desperate.’

And so am I.

‘A week,’ I beg.  ‘Just give me a week.’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ Layla states flatly, her eyes brimming with despair.  ‘We both know that.  He doesn’t really want to see me.  You’ll never talk him into it.’

‘I can,’ I insist.  ‘I’ve already made progress.  I just can’t rush him.’

Especially right now, not with Boyd’s shadow still hanging over us.

‘You’re not really making progress, Maya.  If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ll admit that.  He’ll never agree to meet me.  This is the only way.  I meet him here.  I just need enough time to tell him what’s going on, face to face.’

I run a hand over my forehead and stare into space.  I understand what she’s saying, I really do, but if I go along with this, I’ll be dicing with danger.

‘You could go to Fosters,’ I suggest, knowing it’s already too late.  ‘He’s leaving at five.  You could catch him there.’

‘No,’ she says, utterly determined now.  ‘After last time, I don’t think they’d even let me in.’

‘But here?  You can’t see him here.’

‘Yes, I can.’  Finally, she seems to pick up on my panic.  ‘He doesn’t need to know we’ve been in touch, Maya.  Just make out that I turned up out of the blue.  Blame me.  I’ve got nothing left to lose.’

Gazing at the clock, I run through the alternatives in my mind and as far as I can see, there’s only one.  I could ask her to leave, but that would be pointless.  She’d only end up hanging around on the street.  And even though she may not be his favourite person, I can’t treat Dan’s sister like that.  There are no two ways about it:  I’m up to my neck in shit … and there’s no escape.

‘Okay,’ I murmur.

She watches me for a moment.

‘You’ve never been on the wrong side of him, have you?’

No, I’ve not.  But now that Layla’s here, there’s a distinct possibility I’m going to experience it tonight … and it could change things between us forever.  Out of nowhere, nausea grabs hold of my stomach, swinging about the contents with wild abandon.

‘If he does kick off, he’ll calm down eventually,’ I offer, reassuring myself now, or at least trying to.  ‘And then he’ll see sense, and you two can talk.  It’ll be fine.’

With an uncertain nod, Layla shifts from the stool and wanders through to the living area. Making straight for the windows, she takes in the view of the Thames, and then she turns, catching sight of the paintings that line the room, focussing eventually on the picture above the fireplace

‘Limmingham.’  Feeling like a condemned woman, I join her.  ‘I painted it.’

‘You?’  Her eyes widen.  ‘It’s wonderful.’

‘It’s the woods.  The ones down near the beach.  I painted this before I knew about Dan.’

‘It’s funny you should choose that place.’  She doesn’t need to say any more.  We both know the local legend.  The murdered boy.  The ghost.  ‘It’s like you’re meant for each other.’

We are, and I know that now.  We’re totally meant for each other.  And if we can get through this little episode in one piece, then I’m going to get a ring on his finger before he can blink an eye.  I’m never going to risk losing him again.

‘I remember you,’ Layla smiles.  ‘I used to see you playing out on the front when you were young.  A lovely little thing.  You seemed to get more miserable as you got older.’

I feel myself baulk.  She’s completely right, of course, but I never thought it was that obvious.

‘I suppose …’  She hesitates, looks at me and then turns back to the picture, as if she’s really not sure whether to go on or not.  ‘Your sister couldn’t have been easy to live with.’

‘She wasn’t,’ I confirm.  ‘But we’re okay now.  She’s changed.’

‘Has Dan met her?’

‘Yes.’

She gives me a look of disbelief.  ‘I know how she treated him,’ she explains.  ‘Everyone knew.’

‘And I’m not excusing her, but we’re adults now.  They’ve met a few times.  At first it didn’t go too well, but they’re trying.  I’m sure they’ll get there one day.’

‘Well, if he can do that with Sara,’ Layla muses, echoing my own thoughts, ‘then I’m sure there’s hope for me.’

***

I check the clock.  Twenty to five.  To steady the nerves, I pour us both a glass of wine.  To pass the time, we settle down to a few minutes of half-hearted small talk.  Layla tells me about her husband and children, a little about Sophie, how she moved to Wales, cutting all ties until her life began to fall apart.  And then we move on to me.  I take her through a summary of my life, from Limmingham to Dan.  And all the time, I keep my eye on that bloody clock, watching as the minutes sneak past.