care for his routine being disrupted.” Standing again, he gestured at the small table. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he said, but Gemma couldn’t detect any evident sarcasm. As he disappeared into the bathroom, he added, “I won’t be a minute.”
When he returned a few moments later, his hair had been smoothed down and his shirt buttoned the remainder of the way.
He put water on to boil and took a cafetiere and a bag of ground coffee from the cupboard in the small kitchen. As he spooned out the coffee, he gave Gemma a questioning look, but she shook her head. “No thanks. I just had some at the station, unspeakable as it was. You’d think it was a deliberate attempt to poison us.”
Hearing herself sound idiotic, she quelled any further impulse to babble by asking, “What were you recording?”
“Some mates of mine in a rock band wanted a clarinet solo on one of their tracks.”
“Do you do much studio work?” she said, her natural curiosity providing her an easy avenue.
Gordon shrugged as he poured the hot water over the coffee. “I never turn down an offer—makes a break from busking.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that many bands used clarinets.”
“I play anything—jazz, classical, even backing for adverts; I’m not a bloody music snob. It works both ways, you know.” He glanced up at her as he poured coffee into one of the two mugs he seemed to own. “The rock guys who think classical is rubbish are just as stupid as the classical blokes who think rock is rubbish.”
Blowing across the top of his cup, he took an experimental sip, then sat down opposite her, his eyes now clear and focused. “So, Sergeant, what is it you want from me
“The truth.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we’d done that.”
Gemma plunged in. “You must have known your father was interested in buying the Hammond’s warehouse and developing the property. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Hammond’s? You mean Annabelle’s business? Why should I have known that?” he answered reasonably. “I haven’t seen my father in—”
“It was common enough knowledge that your mate in the Neighborhood Association knew about it. You expect me to believe he neglected to mention it to you? And that’s assuming you hadn’t heard it already from someone else.”
Gordon stared at her, his face expressionless. “My father buys properties all the time—it’s what he does. Why should anyone have bothered to mention one he
She stared back at him, regrouping. “All right, let’s try it from the other direction. All those questions you said Annabelle asked you about your family—were some of them about your father’s business?”
“They might have been, I suppose, but I’d not have thought anything of it—people tend to be curious about him.”
“And you never wondered, when she sought you out and seduced you, if she might have had some ulterior motive?”
“Are you saying she needed one?” His eyes met hers in a challenge.
Gemma felt the color rising in her face. “I think that once you learned who Annabelle was, you’d have made sure you heard anything that had to do with Hammond’s, and especially if your father happened to be involved. What I don’t understand is why you’re lying about it.”
When he didn’t answer, she continued, “I think you knew about your father and Annabelle. I think you knew about your father’s interest in her business. And I think you’ve lied to me from the beginning about your feelings for Annabelle. She was in love with you. That’s what she told you that night, wasn’t it?”
Gordon’s knuckles whitened on his coffee mug. His voice dangerously calm, he said, “You know fuck-all about it. Nothing was about
“You broke things off with her because you found out she was sleeping with your father. You loved her. You never stopped loving her. But you wouldn’t forgive her.”
“Forgive her?” Gordon shoved back his chair and shook a cigarette from the packet on the counter, then lit it with an angry strike of a match. “Why should I even have believed her? And what difference would it have made if I had? Can you imagine what an aboveboard relationship with Annabelle Hammond would have meant? Do you think I’d have let myself be vetted by her family to see if I passed muster? That I’d have put on a coat and tie and gone to work as her flunkey in the family firm?”
Gemma stood up so quickly that her chair rocked and teetered. “You lied to me. And I put myself on the line for you!”
“Is that what this is about? You and your professional credibility?” His face was inches from hers. “That’s bollocks. I’ve been interviewed by the police before, and they didn’t dance with me in the park, or come alone to my flat. You want me to be honest with you, Gemma, then you be honest with me. You tell me this isn’t about you and me.”
“I … You …” Gemma couldn’t look away from him, and to her dismay she felt herself trembling.
“You can’t, can you?” He was almost shouting now, and he plunged his unfinished cigarette into his barely touched coffee. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at them, his brow furrowed. “Don’t accuse me of holding out on you when you won’t admit that.”
“All right, goddamn it,” Gemma said, her own voice rising. “It’s not about my credibility. It’s not about the job. It’s about whatever this is between us—”
Gordon grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. He stared down at her, and the pressure of his fingertips seemed to burn her bare skin.
