Present day
The Bread Street Kitchen otherwise life stops, Bob! It just stops . . .
‘I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you tonight.’
‘Of course you were! I don’t want to hear it.’ She looked directly at him now. He was good, she’d give him that, quite convincing, even now, his downcast mouth, eyes misting. He was very good. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I won’t leave you alone. We need to talk, need to—’
‘I don’t need to do anything where you’re concerned. Just piss off!’
Without any thought of continuing the evening and not a morsel of food in her stomach, she looked towards the river, then the landmark where she stood, in front of the mighty chimneys of Battersea.
With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath.
All she had to do was follow the winding silver ribbon, all the way home.
Her home that this man and his associates wanted to pull down and replace with something new and shiny. Erasing her history, erasing her.
Now at a brisk pace, no more of the leisurely amble that had taken her there, Lilly began to walk, irritated and uncomfortable at the fact that Alfie walked by her side.
‘I’ll walk you home.’
‘I neither want nor need you to walk me home. These are my streets, remember? Not that I need to remind you of that. You already know all about me.’ This thought was enough to enrage her further.
‘There’s me giving you snippets about my life, telling you about my dad, my childhood, opening up .
. . What kind of kick did you get from it?
And what a horrible, horrible thing to do to someone, to do to me!
’ Her voice broke now, and she had to slow her pace a little; rushing was making her feel a little dizzy.
‘It’s not like that.’
‘I don’t want to hear it!’ She turned to him briefly as she shouted, ‘You and your lackey, Joshua Vaughan, you must have both been having such a giggle! I can imagine it, I’ve got the silly old fool on a hook!
Like one of those fish you eat once a month!
Just a daft single woman who responded to a bit of flattery!
I’m so mad at myself!’ She clenched her fists.
‘I’ll admit I came to the river because Joshy said you might be there.
’ Joshy . . . Joshy . . . It was a nickname that smacked of affection and familiarity, both of which made her want to scream!
Was his supposed interest in Clodagh just another ruse to smooth their plans?
‘I thought I might be able to talk to you, help you see sense.’
‘Help me see sense?’ She felt the tension in her jaw. ‘That, Mr Portland, is one of those phrases. Suggesting I cannot think straight or form an opinion without the guidance of someone like you, as if I have not fully grasped the situation and need someone, a man, to explain it to me!’
‘That’s not what I—’ He looked down.
‘I think you’ll find that if that was all it took, good old Joshy would have come back to you some weeks ago now with a positive report and a contract signed and sealed, as he has explained it all to me several times over!’
‘That’s not what I—’
‘You seem intent on telling me what you have not, but allow me to clarify what you have.’ She took a beat, feeling the squeeze to her heart as her truth, the truth, fell from her lips.
‘You personally have upset me. You have unsettled me, and you have made me feel stupid, which is the very worst feeling. You have lied to me by omission, something I absolutely detest! And your company, the developers, for that’s what you are, Mr Portland, a builder, a developer, not merely a businessman – your company has placed me under the most extraordinary pressure, threatening to dismantle all I hold dear.
Every brick, every panel, every wire, every particle of dust that makes up my home – it’s where I belong, where I have always belonged.
It’s my Norfolk.’ Again she cursed the crack to her voice as her tears gathered and there was very little she could do to stop them.
‘Lilly, please! Give me a chance to explain.’ He reached out as if to take her hand, something she had welcomed not half an hour since.
But Lilly knew that life could turn on a penny like that.
One minute you could hold all your dreams in your palm and the next they were covered in warm, sticky blood.
She took a step backwards out of reach.
‘Don’t touch me! And don’t talk to me. Don’t you dare talk to me! And if you think I will leave my home no matter what underhand ghastly tactics you might try, you can think again.’ She turned in the direction of home. ‘I don’t want you to walk me home. I don’t want you anywhere near me!’
Thankful he didn’t try and follow her, she made her way cautiously along the riverwalk as dusk gave way to darkness. Concentrating on every stride, she worried that with the uncertainty of every step, she just might stumble.
Her phone pinged with a text. Sweary words of rebuttal itched her fingertips in anticipation of it being from Alfie, knowing she could not stand to read his pithy words of apology.
The liar.
But no, it was from darling Clodagh.
Hope You’re Having a Lovely Time!
Swallowing the tears that threatened, she replied with a kiss.
It would have to do. Riven with disappointment, cloaked with anger and embarrassment, she was entirely without the energy to offer anything more.
It made her feel foolish, the thought that she could outrun the horrible legacy of being Jeannie’s daughter, that she might find someone to spend time with and had, in a private moment, even flirted with the idea that it wouldn’t be the worst thing to love and be loved by a man like Alfie.
The trouble was, she had no idea who Alfie was, only having been drawn into the charade, the lie, all part of a carefully orchestrated plot to make her hand over her keys and go quietly.
Why in the world had she thought that time might make a difference, turn her into someone else entirely?
Tonight was a reminder that she was, despite the passing of decades, still the woman Wilkie had run from, the woman who had failed with Rex, who had tried so hard, and now this . . .
‘God, I feel so stupid!’ she whispered, biting her bottom lip until she felt the pinch of it, angry yet again to have been so duped. Duped at her age, seventy; old enough to know better . . .