“My mother told me she lied about your letters,” James said, somewhat tersely. “All you asked for was a chance to see Ryan. You were satisfied with the money I gave you and weren’t demanding more.”
I choked on the fizz. Just as well, since coughing stopped me from divulging that I’d never asked for his goddamn money! Francesca may have come clean with me at Hampstead Heath—to an extent, but she’d said nothing about my supposed demand for dosh.
No wonder James thought me the dirt under his shoe, and it was all her fault.
Oh, how you wish, my mind supplied promptly.
I tapped my chest, hard, using the knocks to push down my temper. A deal was a deal. Francesca had promised to help me, and I would have to keep to my end no matter what.
James contemplated the city outline. “She said you came to Matham Manor.”#p#分页标题#e#
Well, screw me front and back, Franny was choosy about the truth, but she had at least told him of my visits. I could tell him everything now, every sad detail about the last one. How I’d written him a note and waited until the small hours of the morning for his reply. I cleared my throat and nothing came out. You’d think after almost drowning it I’d have enough moisture to speak, but my voice cracked over parched terrain.
“Yeah, I came.”
He turned his head. “Why didn’t you return?”
“Your note told me not to, remember?”
“What note?”
What the hell? I repeated his message verbatim and he stared at me, lips slightly parted as a flurry of emotions crossed his features—shock, disbelief and finally, anger.
“I didn’t write that.”
I inhaled sharply and we shared a long, charged look, but for once I didn’t try to read him. I didn’t need to. Hadn’t Francesca admitted she’d taken “measures” to keep me away from James and Ryan? She had fobbed me off that day and all it had taken was a scribbled note.
If I didn’t leave I was going to seriously harm my chances of getting Francesca’s help. James’s open behaviour was uncharacteristic and he’d probably switch back to “punish Paisley” mode any second. If he insulted me I might burst and spill Francesca’s secrets and then—
“Okay, well...much as I like the This is Your Life moment, I’ve gotta dash.”
James frowned. “You never wanted the money Francesca gave you that day, did you.”
My heart clenched, and I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it abruptly. I didn’t want to tell him of Francesca’s cruelty or her lies. And in the end, whether I’d asked for the ten grand or not didn’t matter.
“I took your money,” I said, self-loathing making my voice harsh. “And I let you have Ryan without a fight. You were right—I sold you my son and I should have fought to keep him.”
“Ryan’s place was with me,” James said rigidly. “Not with a malicious, drug-addicted teenager who didn’t care about her family, her child or even herself.”
Tears pooled in my eyes. “I hate what I did to you,” I blurted, shocking myself, I think, as much as James. “You offered me your friendship and I made you my enemy.”
Where in the hell had that come from?
I didn’t have a clue but the words were true and James seemed receptive to what I had to say. He no longer looked angry, only pensive, regarding me with an intensity that made me fidget.
“I’m not that belligerent and aggressive girl you met anymore.”
“Don’t forget rude and immature.”
“Well, you were arrogant and superior,” I retorted. “Insulting me, preaching at me and—” I clamped my lips shut. “I’ve still got a temper.”
“And you’re still a messy eater.”
In a blink he’d reached out and traced my chin with his finger, sending a small tingle across my cheek. Smirking, he showed me the daub of chocolate glaze he’d wiped off.
“There’s more where that came from.”
Oh for fudge’s sake! Whether I was a chocolate-smeared woman or a ketchup-covered teenager I was a source of amusement to him. No wonder he kept looking at my mouth. Were my teeth brown too?
James took out his handkerchief and wiped the corner of my lips—a surprisingly intimate gesture in spite of the quick, efficient way he did it. His teasing glance made me feel like a child. I am the adult, it seemed to say, and you are still a brat.#p#分页标题#e#
“Chocolate’s better than ketchup,” I muttered.
“I like them both.”
I blinked, unsure if I had heard correctly. I wanted to say something that would make him smile at me like he did at Velma.