Sam’s voice sounded miserable too. ‘It’s not okay. I’m sure they’ll do their best to keep you safe and catch this person, but shit, Nina, I wish I was there to help.’
Nina forced herself to sound upbeat. ‘You’ll be home soon. I’m absolutely fine.’
‘You are not. And I know you don’t want to be involved with me but as your friend, Nina, I want to be involved with you. If that’s okay.’
It was a struggle to keep her voice steady. He was her friend, in spite of her telling him to get lost, basically. This horrible situation would be so much more bearable if Sam was there with her.
‘You know that’s okay. And you’re right, I’m not fine, but I’m holding it together.’
‘My business here needs another hour, tops. I’ll go and chivvy them all into this last meeting, and as soon as it’s over I’ll start back. I’ll be in Bedford about nine.’
At five o’clock the doorbell shrilled into silence in the house, and Nina, huddled in a corner of the sofa texting Beth, jumped in fright. Hell, her nerves were all over the place. And she’d forgotten all about Paul’s promise to come by that afternoon.
‘It’ll be Paul Wright, my cousin,’ she said to Sabine, who was in the armchair leafing through a magazine.
‘Don’t forget I’m your old college friend,’ she said, and misery flooded through Nina. It felt all wrong that she couldn’t tell Paul what was going on. He was much more of a victim than she was.
She introduced her cousin to Sabine, feeling more and more awkward as they all sat down and looked at each other. She was going to have to lie to Paul almost every time she opened her mouth now, and how horrible was that?
‘Is your plan still on for tonight?’ said Paul. His eyes were dark-rimmed and his face even paler than that morning. Nina tried to sound reassuring.
‘Yes. It’s scary, but if the police catch this guy it’ll get things over with. I’m glad Sabine’s here to keep me company. Paul, are you okay?’
His hands were picking restlessly at the hem of his pullover as he sat slumped in the armchair. Nina found it impossible to imagine what he might be thinking. After all, the blackmailer could well turn out to be Paul’s father.
His expression was bleak. ‘I’ll be fine. I’d like to stay for a bit though, if I may. I don’t want to be alone today. And maybe you could do with family around.’
‘Good idea,’ said Nina, exchanging glances with Sabine. The younger woman’s face was pleasantly neutral and Nina could take no comfort from it. It was kind of Paul to come; it showed he cared, and she wanted to help him too if he needed support, but… it did make things awkward.
He was visibly nervous, giving very short answers to everything that was said to him, and Nina began to wonder if involving the police had been the right thing to do. Maybe if she’d ignored the anonymous letter thing from the start it would all have died down and disappeared by itself. Paul had spent all his life avoiding what happened to him as a child, and then she arrived and within five minutes she had raked everything up and was rubbing his nose in it. What kind of a cousin did that make her? But there was no way she could start a heart to heart with him when Sabine was here. Nina searched around for something to say.
‘Do you know where the secretaire in the study came from? It’s so different to all the other furniture here.’
He gave a half-smile. ‘I think it belonged to Emily originally, but I’m not sure.’
‘I’m going to take it home to Arran,’ said Nina. Typical. Another lovely thing that hadn’t been John Moore’s. She would turn Claire’s room in the farmhouse into a study, she thought suddenly. The secretaire could go there, and it would be good to have something of Emily’s as well. A real family room.
Sabine started a conversation about supposed old friends, and Nina joined in reluctantly. It was hellish, sitting there trying to chat about things the two of them might remember, and a huge relief when the other woman suggested catching the news on TV. As soon as the weather forecast was finished Nina went through to the kitchen and made a pot of spaghetti, opening a jar of pesto to go with it.
Paul picked at his food but made no move to leave when the meal was over. Nina sat at the kitchen table massaging her temples and watching Sabine wash the spaghetti pan. Dear God, she was exhausted. And she was going to be up for hours yet; no way would she be able to sleep until she knew what happened during Sabine’s late-night trip through the park. Plus, and the thought hadn’t struck her until now – would she be all alone here when Sabine left? At least Sam would be back by that time… But the odds were that David wouldn’t allow Sam anywhere near this place, because if the blackmailer was watching, the arrival of a fit young lawyer would make things even more complicated. Maybe they’d send someone to guard the house when Sabine was gone; after all, there was no guarantee the letter-writer wouldn’t break in and torch the place before he went to the park. Bloody hell.
‘Nina, we’ll talk about holidays,’ said Sabine in a low voice, when Paul went into the downstairs toilet. ‘If he’s still here at eight suggest he goes home and comes back tomorrow.’
When they’d exhausted the subject of holidays Sabine started asking about the photos, encouraging Paul to tell them about his childhood. Nina found it hard to listen as he revealed further details about his mother’s increasing dependence on alcohol, and how she’d left Paul to organise his own meals and often wash his own clothes too. She died when Paul was thirteen.
‘So you were in care?’ said Sabine, and to Nina’s dismay Paul glowered at her.
‘I don’t talk about that time,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s best forgotten.’
Tears were bright in his eyes, and Nina ached for him. Puberty was a difficult time for any child, and Paul must have had it worse than most. She would sit him down for a long talk before she went home, see if she could change his mind about going to some kind of therapy.
She squinted at the clock on the back wall, trying to do it unobtrusively. She was unsuccessful. Paul jumped up from his chair at the photos table and flung himself down on the sofa.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I’ll be gone soon. I have to pick my girlfriend up after her French class.’
‘Paul, don’t. We’re all edgy and scared. It’s all right.’ Nina sat on the arm of the sofa beside him.
‘I know. Sorry.’
He gave her a brief smile then went to the window, where he stood jiggling from one foot to the other, staring outside. Dark clouds was gathering overhead; by the looks of things it was going to rain soon.
‘I’ll make more coffee before you go,’ said Sabine, retreating to the kitchen. Nina heaved a sigh. It was easier when Sabine wasn’t in the room; all the pretending was more than draining. She joined Paul at the window and patted his shoulder, feeling almost maternal, then remembered she had promised to call Naomi. Shit. Right this minute she simply didn’t trust herself to talk to her daughter as if everything was normal. Maybe a text message would be better. She pulled out her phone and flopped down on the sofa to text in comfort.
She was in the middle of her message when the phone rang in the study, and her heart leapt into her mouth.
‘Oh God, Paul – suppose that’s the blackmailer?’
Sabine was in the doorway. ‘I’ll get it. If it’s him he might stay on the line longer if he thinks I’m going to fetch you.’
She left her coffee tray on the table and strode through to the study. Paul wandered out to the hallway, and Nina finished adding smilies to her text and sent the message, hoping Naomi wouldn’t call right back. Not that this was likely. Naomi had only had her own phone since her father’s departure to South Africa, and sending text messages was still a novelty. Sure enough, just moments later the answering text came in.