Chapter Seventeen
Turning the key in the lock, I stopped reluctantly in the doorway, not wanting to go in, even though Daniel was right behind me. His hand was clasped over mine on the key in the door.
‘I’ll go first?’ he whispered.
Following him, I bent to pick up my bag, listening intently.
‘Hellooo,’ I called out, with only a tiny quaver in my voice. Having six foot plus of lean muscle and warm body with me was very reassuring.
‘Emily — are you home?’ Nothing. Just silence.
Daniel took the steps two at a time. ‘Emily, are you in?’ he called more forcefully.
Following closely, although my heart was bumping uncomfortably, at the same time it was expanding with pride. My hero. My very own Clark Kent. He got to the top step, which opened into the lounge. It was cold and unlit, as if no one had been here for a little while.
An empty mug was on the floor beside Friday’s Evening Standard along with a plate of congealing beans, a pair of boots, and two different shoes.
Assorted clothes, jewellery and magazines were scattered around the room while the coffee table was strewn with empty crisp packets, biscuit crumbs and two discarded yoghurt pots.
‘Has there been a struggle here?’ said Daniel, bending down and picking up one of the shoes.
‘No, Daniel. This is standard.’
‘Really?’ He seemed surprised.
Of course Emily had made sure she’d kept her inner slob hidden whenever he came round.
‘I don’t think anyone’s here,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I’ll check the bedrooms.’
He looked into Emily’s room, then mine. ‘Clear,’ he said, with a more confident smile.
‘You sound like you’re in an American cop drama or something.’
‘Just as long as I’m the good-looking one and not the short, fat sidekick,’ he said swaggering by, heading towards the bathroom.
We were on a roll until he hit the kitchen.
When I heard a muttered, ‘Shit’, I rushed in, fearing the worst, expecting to see Emily’s bloodied and bruised body spreadeagled across the floor with spatters of red up the walls. Too much watching of CSI.
I collided with Daniel as he was retreating backwards.
‘Oomph,’ I muttered into the back of his shirt. He turned, standing tall so I couldn’t see around him. My imagination carried on picturing a bloody body.
‘Christ, it stinks in here. The bin needs emptying.’
My height decreased by three inches as the tension left my shoulders.
The bin always needed emptying when I wasn’t around.
Emily didn’t do dirty jobs. There was quite a pong: old curry cartons mixed with rotting teabags and something I couldn’t quite identify.
Feeling pissed off that it was always me that had to do this, I crossed to the bin and quickly tied up the nearly overflowing black bag and dumped it outside the back door on the fire escape. I’d take it down the stairs later.
Closing the door, I crossed the floor, brushing past him deliberately to savour the bodily contact as I flicked on the kettle. He caught my arm and deliberately pulled me towards him.
‘God, woman, this is going to be torture.’
I grinned wickedly up at him. Teasingly I reached up, putting my hand up to the back of his neck and pulled his head down to mine.
‘You’re just going to have to grin and bear it,’ I breathed at the corner of his mouth, stealing a quick kiss.
He turned and caught my lips, turning it into a kiss of the slow, lingering type.
My insides quivered and when he finally lifted his head, I was left wanting more.
He returned my grin with an equally naughty one of his own.
‘And you’re going to have to behave.’
‘Not fair,’ I said ruefully.
‘You started it,’ he said calmly, leaning back against the cupboards, arms folded, looking smug.
I couldn’t resist a quick, sneaky glance to see if he was as affected as I was. He lifted a brow. Oops, not as surreptitious as I’d thought. I blushed bright red as he smirked and my stomach dropped into freefall.
All this touchy-feely, shivery, quivery stuff was very well but it was a long while since I’d been to bed with someone.
I didn’t have to calculate exactly how long — it was months in double digits.
The thought of feeling all the hard and soft bit of his naked body up against mine had set my nerve ends tingling.
Daniel had a knowing look on his face. I could have sworn he knew exactly what was going through my head.
‘You would be so bad at poker, sweetheart.’ He grinned. I pretended to hit him, and of course he grabbed my wrist, pulling me towards him. When we finally broke apart, I insisted he should go and sit in the lounge so that I could concentrate on making him a cup of tea.
‘Before you go, can you nip out to grab a pint of milk?’ It was pointless looking in the fridge; the last bottle had been finished on Friday morning. There was no way Emily would have bought any since.
While he was out, I quickly unpacked my bag, putting everything away, before giving my bedroom the quick once over. Just in case.
* * *
Opening the Yellow Pages, I sat down on the opposite sofa facing Daniel who, having returned with the milk, had plonked it straight down on the table in front of us.
I kept my distance because I was keen to avoid the scenario where we sprang apart like scalded cats the minute we heard Emily’s key in the door.
‘Blimey, it’s big business, locksmithery. There are loads listed.’ I thumbed through. ‘Police registered, contracted . . . that sounds good.’ Daniel opened milk and poured it into the tea.
‘Get a few quotes. They’re bound to charge extra on Sunday.’
‘Here’s one that says no call-out charge. Or what about this, OAP discounts. Do the over-sixties lock themselves out regularly?’
‘Yes, if they’re anything like my gran. She had keys all over the village — she was always locking herself out.’
* * *
Emily turned up just as I was finishing my call with Locks R Us. I was dreading her rushing up to Daniel and hurling herself into his arms, but I needn’t have worried. As she rounded the top of the stairs, a guilty look slid across her face.
‘Where you’ve been?’ I asked hurriedly. ‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?’
‘Daniel . . . Olivia. What are you . . . doing here?’ she stuttered, hurriedly pulling her jacket back on.
I knew why. That skimpy top looked like last night’s clubbing outfit to me.
‘We’ve been so worried about you! I was imagining all—’
‘What are you on about?’ she asked defensively. ‘I was at . . . at Caroline’s last night.’
Her eyes didn’t meet mine, which suited me fine — my own guilt was probably plastered across my face.
‘Do you want to tell her, Olivia?’ asked Daniel looking stern.
‘It’s Peter,’ I explained. ‘He’s stalking you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emily pulled a face, rolling her eyes at Daniel as if humouring me.
‘Here on this tape I got from Miriam, you can see Peter watching you at the premiere.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you absolutely sure it is him?’
‘Definitely.’
Emily’s eyes darted to Daniel.
‘I know all about it,’ he said dryly. She coloured and glared at me.
‘I hope you explained that it was all down to you,’ she snapped, her voice softening as she turned to Daniel. ‘I only went on the speed-date to keep her company — biggest mistake I ever made.’
Not, if she was with the man I suspected she’d been with last night. A certain someone she’d met at the speed-date. Someone who had access to tickets to the Phantom of the Opera, liked Japanese food and completed the Times crossword every day.
‘Emily, I’m not interested,’ said Daniel wearily. ‘There’s a much bigger issue. Peter. He looks like he’s been here. Taking things. Like your scarf.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’ve been listening to little Miss Paranoia.’ She rounded on me. ‘You lost my red scarf. Do you think I believe that? Honestly.’ She rolled her eyes at Daniel, trying to enlist his support.
‘Emily,’ I said as calmly as I could, my back teeth grating. ‘I’d show you. It’s quite clear on the video tape.’
‘Convenient, who uses video recorders these days?’
* * *
Daniel shook his head. ‘Emily, I promise you I’ve seen it. This guy was definitely at the premiere, watching you and wearing your red scarf.’
‘My God. That’s so creepy. How did he know I’d be there?’ Emily hugged herself and sank onto the sofa.
‘Dunno. But can you remember when the scarf went missing?’
‘It was . . .’ She went silent. ‘No, it couldn’t . . .’
‘What?’
‘You remember I lost my keys.’
‘Of course I do. I rang you in a panic when I thought there was someone downstairs.’
Daniel’s head shot up. ‘You never said anything about that before.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t . . .’
Shit, had we just given the game away to Emily. Her face was an icy mask. Her eyes narrowed on Daniel. Trying to distract her, I said, ‘Thought you’d left them at work.’
A brief look of embarrassment crossed her face. ‘Not exactly,’ she hedged. ‘They were handed in to reception. Someone found them outside the front door of the office.’
Everything clicked into place. ‘Cara said he’d dropped your bag,’ I said, butting in. ‘He took your keys.’
‘My God. What’s he up to? Why’s he following me?’ Emily looked ashen, her breathing shallow. ‘I’m scared. What does he want?’
As if asking permission, Daniel glanced my way before going over and sitting down next to her.
‘Look, Emily,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘A locksmith’s on his way to change the locks but you need to call the police in. You have to report this.’
‘Why can’t Olivia? It’s her fault — and her cousin’s,’ said Emily, turning to him and laying her head on his shoulder. ‘What am I going to do? Oh, Daniel. I’m so glad you’re here.’
He looked up helplessly. I shrugged. An Oscar winning performance.
‘You’d have thought,’ she glared at me as if I was personally responsible, ‘that checks would have been in place to stop this sort of thing. Why didn’t you warn me, Olivia? You’ll have to phone the police. Barney’s your cousin.’