Page 182 of Guilty Pleasures

‘It’s Tom.’

‘Oh, hi there,’ she smiled propping herself up with a pillow. She was surprised at how pleased she was to hear his voice. There was a pause as if Tom was unsure about what to say next.

‘So … heard any more about the cause of the fire?’

‘You probably know more about it than I do,’ said Stella. ‘I’ve hardly been to Milford since that night.’

‘Well, I just wanted to call and say that my mother has finally arranged a meeting with Walter Maier about your dad’s exhibition. He’s very busy, very important, and very German. He’s invited us for drinks tomorrow – schnapps, most likely. Can you make it?’

‘Of course I can make it,’ said Stella, perking up considerably. ‘I’m in London tonight actually so I’ll just stay another day. Will you come with me?’

‘If you ask nicely,’ and she could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Look, I have to go,’ said Tom quickly. ‘I have to be in Charing Cross Road by 8 p.m. for a gig.’

‘I’m at the St Martin’s Lane Hotel,’ she replied. ‘You should pop in and say hello.’

‘In that case, what are you doing in a hour?’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Meet me in the lobby. Don’t dress up.’

Something had troubled Emma all the way back to Winterfold. Why had the police been so interested in why Cassandra and Emma didn’t get on? How could they possibly think that Emma would want to torch the Stables with Cassandra inside? It was inconceivable. Yes, Cassandra had resented her and tried to sabotage the company, but she had failed – the roaring success of the show and the party were proof of that, so what possible motive could people think Emma would have? She drove slowly back through the estate. The soft, woody smell of smoke was still hanging in the air. Her hands trembled on the wheel as she thought back to the events of Saturday night. Nothing seemed real except the rather obvious certainty that she now had nowhere to live. All her earthly possessions were to be found in the small handbag that she had borrowed from the factory, which was presently sitting beside her on the passenger seat. Rob had insisted she move into Winterfold but she had felt uncomfortable and had asked to stay in the guest suite. He hadn’t complained and

instead had sent his assistant to go shopping for Emma. So Emma had found her wardrobe already full of jeans, T-shirts, white shirts and a black Jil Sander trouser suit. She’d really appreciated the gesture.

Emma parked her car and walked through the house and into the kitchen. It was Morton’s afternoon off and the house was ghostly quiet. She wandered around noticing for the first time how much it had changed. It felt more homely, peppered with photographs of Rob’s family and friends. She was looking at them, wondering who the women in the pictures were when she heard footsteps in the corridor behind her. Emma quickly moved away from the photos and was sitting on the sofa looking nonchalant when Rob clattered in carrying a big stack of pizza boxes.

‘I picked these up from the village,’ he said from behind the boxes. ‘I didn’t know what you fancied, so I pretty much got everything.’

‘Just what I need, comfort food,’ said Emma, clapping her hands.

They sat on the rug in the library and Rob lit a fire. As it crackled, Emma felt herself thaw emotionally. For the first time since her belongings had gone up in smoke she felt at home, felt like she had something to hold onto. Outside it was dark and raining heavily. The pizza gone, Rob dimmed the lights and brought a mountain of cushions over to the hearth.

‘I went to see Cassandra today,’ said Emma as she lay in Rob’s arms, his fingers stroking her hair.

‘How was she?’

‘She looked fabulous,’ she smiled.

‘I’m not surprised. I’m sure she’s quite enjoying all the attention.’

Emma was quiet for a moment, playing with Rob’s cuff.

‘Rob, do you think someone wants me dead?’ she asked quietly, turning to look at him.

‘Honey, let’s not go through this again,’ he said gently. ‘Let the police work it out.’

‘But will they?’

‘Chances are that the fire was started by kids.’

‘Just like it was joyriders who pushed me off the road. I guess I must be pretty unlucky.’

‘It was still probably pranksters.’

‘Petrol was poured through the front door.’