Those You Trust: compelling women's psychological fiction by Bernie Steadman

Author:Bernie Steadman [Steadman, Bernie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - Women's fiction
Published: 2020-11-24T16:00:00+00:00

20

I hate being late. It had become a problem over the years. Will cultivated lateness because above all, he liked to make an entrance, but that only made me worse. I hate being thought rude. I’d loved living a life for the past few weeks where time was more fluid and flexible and I wasn’t so driven, but the anxiety was still lurking.

However, I could remember those relaxed feelings when I was in a better mood, and not about to be late for a dinner party. I pulled the curtains aside and looked once again down the dark street. There were lots of people about as it was Easter Saturday, but all were headed down into the harbour for a huge midnight feast and fireworks after the usual church service. Only the honoured few would be going up the hill to Kokorakis mansion. Seven thirty and still no sign of him. Where was he?

I’d dressed in my favourite crimson silk shift dress, which was a bit tighter than I remembered around the hips, but still looked fine. With carefully applied makeup and a serious conditioning of the wild mop that passed for my hair, I’d been feeling pretty good by the time I’d finished dressing.

I checked again. Still no sign of him. Still no text since early in the week.

I poured a cold glass of deliciously scented white wine and sipped it as I perched on the very edge of the chair. No point creasing the dress before I got there. I was apprehensive, but also excited. I checked my watch. It was an old one my father had given me on my twenty-first birthday. Silver-and-gold bracelet with a tiny face and ornate numbers. He said it had been his grandmother’s. It was the only time I remember him ever mentioning her. I added silver earrings and my chunky ring, and checked my hair once again.

Ten minutes to walk up the hill, so I should leave at seven forty-five. Or maybe leave at eight, if I was going to have to go on my own. There was no way I was getting there first. I put lipstick, my newly-printed business cards and tissues into my beaded shoulder bag, and added my phone, which had remained silent since a quick call from my mother earlier in the day. Then I stared moodily at the cold fireplace.

Finally, there was a rap on the door, and Leo was there, looking very cool in a black dinner jacket and a bow tie.

‘Well, you look a bit better than last time I saw you,’ I said, and let him in.

Leo scooped me into a close hug and aimed for my freshly-painted mouth. I struggled back a little. ‘Watch it,’ I spluttered, ‘don’t wreck all my hard work!’

He settled for a kiss on the cheek. I wondered if he sensed that I wasn’t as bowled over by him as I had been.

‘Said I’d be here, clean and sober, ma’am,’ he said and saluted me. He offered his arm.

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