Page 38

She gripped the stem of her wine glass, smiling awkwardly at her hostess. Emilia knew she had to make her move – the question was when .

‘I never thought I’d see the pair of us sitting here like this,’ Louisa said dryly, taking a generous swig of her wine. ‘I was under the impression that you hated my guts.’

Emilia maintained her smile, determined to appear friendly and unthreatening, even though she knew Louisa was testing her, seeking an ulterior motive for this surprise visit.

Casting an eye over the living room, a dusty space littered with cardboard boxes, a bright white rug in the centre the only available floorspace for her outstretched legs, she replied, apparently candidly:

‘I did, once. But that was years ago, a bloody waterfall has passed under the bridge since then. And, besides, what’s the point in holding grudges? I’m sure you suffered at his hands as much as we did.’

‘That’s true enough,’ Louisa replied, relaxing back into her chair. ‘He was no better lover than he was a father. He took what he needed and then …’

‘You must have had some good times though, amongst all the bullshit?’ Emilia insisted. ‘I know he could be selfish and uncaring and distant at times, but he could also be generous and fun …’

‘Oh, he was,’ her companion responded, smiling at the memory. ‘But it never lasted. He had a wife, other women on the go, it was a question of waiting your turn.’

Emilia once more forced herself to smile, but really she just wanted to scream.

It was bad enough hearing about the fun times her father had had with other women, but his mistress’s total lack of agency and self-respect was if anything even worse.

Emilia would never let herself be treated that way by a man.

‘That’s the way it goes, I suppose,’ she replied, disingenuously. ‘Papa was a rolling stone …’

‘That he was,’ Louisa replied promptly, barking with laughter. ‘Though I called him a lot worse. You wouldn’t believe the rows we had. Still, the making up was always good …’

Emilia swallowed her disgust, pushing away images of her father pitching up for snatched, loveless trysts in this dusty, cluttered tomb.

Keeping her counsel, Emilia let her father’s ex-lover talk, dredging her memory banks for happier times, re-living her youth when an affair with a married man, and a criminal to boot, felt dangerous and exciting.

Smiling and nodding, Emilia’s eye now drifted to the cluttered floor, to the white fluffy rug in front of her.

Making a quick calculation, she took a tiny sip of her wine, then rose quickly, interrupting her companion’s flow of memories.

‘Here, let me top you up, you’re nearly empty,’ she said, reaching for the bottle.

‘No rush, my love, you’ve barely touched yours.’

‘It’s really no bother.’

Emilia took a purposeful step towards the table, loosening her fingers on the stem as she did so.

The glass slipped from her grasp, causing a yelp of panic to erupt from her lips.

But it was too late, the wine glass falling to the floor, catapulting its inky red contents all over the fluffy white rug.

‘Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry …’ Emilia blurted, falling to her knees next to the broken glass. ‘I’m such a klutz. And look, I’ve ruined your lovely rug …’

Horrified, Louisa was already on her feet, all thoughts of a top-up now forgotten.

‘Good heavens, there’s glass everywhere … ouch!’

Emilia had deliberately gripped the largest shard, a rich seam of blood now springing along the length of her index finger. She held it up to the light, as much for Louisa’s benefit as her own.

‘Don’t go injuring yourself on top of everything else,’ the flustered hostess bleated. ‘Look, you get yourself cleaned up, I’ll deal with this …’

She cast an anguished look towards her precious rug, then hurried out to the kitchen.

‘Bathroom’s in the hall, you’ll find loo roll and plasters there,’ she added over her shoulder as she ran to the kitchen.

Suppressing a smile, Emilia followed her out, slipping into the bathroom, just as Louisa hurried back past her towards the lounge, clutching reams of kitchen roll and a carton of salt.

No sooner had her hostess swept past, however, than Emilia emerged once more, shutting the bathroom door quietly behind her.

Treading lightly over the creaky boards, she then made for a door diagonally opposite, teasing it open.

Dusty concrete steps led down to the basement and Emilia didn’t hesitate, flicking the wall light on and closing the door quietly behind her, before disappearing from view.

Hurrying down the stairs, she now found herself in a small room that was absolutely packed to the gunnels with junk.

Her heart thundering in her chest, Emilia tugged her dad’s instructions from her pocket. This was it. This was her moment.

But where the hell was she supposed to begin?