right to know where Daisy went, who she was with. What her life was like.
She’d forfeited that when she’d walked away and now she was going to have to earn Daisy’s trust by being there for her. By never, ever, no matter what, letting her down again.
Then, seized by a flash of inspiration, she ran to the window, flung it open. ‘Daisy! We can get a licence and I’ll teach you to drive.’
Her sister didn’t stop or look up, just scrunched down deeper into her thin coat.
Ivo, seeing Belle’s front door open, folded up his newspaper, stood up and made for the door. Daisy was always going to leave. Assert her independence. Keep her sister guessing. Hurting.
He stepped back into the doorway when Belle flung open the window, smiled to himself at her smart bid to grab the girl’s attention. Not that Daisy responded. He’d have expected a self-satisfied little grin, but instead she seemed to shrink.
He waited until Belle closed the window and then, keeping to the far side of the road, set off after Daisy.
Belle, her own shoulders not exactly bouncing to her ears with excitement, turned to her laptop and logged on to one of the agencies that specialised in tracking down family members. Somehow just filling in a form and pressing buttons seemed depressingly impersonal; she needed to talk to someone…
Everyone needs someone.
No. It was over. Not that he wouldn’t help her on a practical level. He was a man who could cut through red tape, make things happen. But the cost was too high. Being with him was too painful. She’d played the role assigned for three years, hiding her feelings, because the one thing Ivo Grenville had made clear from day one was that he never used four-letter words.
For a few brief days on that honeymoon idyll, she’d thought it didn’t matter. That even if he never said the word, he lived it. Her mistake had been to let her guard down in the sweet, golden aftermath of love, when he’d been half asleep, when she’d been dreaming of a family of her own.
If his face hadn’t been enough to bring her back to earth, the next day he’d left her to deal with some business problem that wouldn’t keep-a sharp reminder of the status of honeymoons, of her, in his life.
She snatched her hand back from the phone.
She’d lived a half-marriage for three years and, while Ivo’s passion hadn’t dimmed, he had, if anything grown more distant, at least until these last few days. She loved him, had loved him since the day she’d turned to meet his gaze, fallen into those ocean-deep eyes. Would never love anyone else with the same wholehearted, body and soul commitment, but she’d take nothing rather than go back to the way things had been.
And she had Daisy to think of now.
She made a note of the agency’s telephone number, then called, talked to an adviser who took all the details she had, somehow managing to tease stuff out of her memory that she didn’t know she remembered. Or had, maybe, striven to forget. Promised to get back to her with something, even if it was to say that she’d found nothing, by the end of the next day.
That done, she poured out her heart to Simone and Claire in an email.
As she typed, she could hear their voices in her head asking all the right questions, posing ideas, offering suggestions. It was exactly what she needed to clear her head and she didn’t bother to send the email.
There was nothing more they could do except offer sympathy-something she neither deserved nor needed. In fact, much as it pained her to admit it, what she could really do with just at that moment was a little of Ivo’s detachment. His ability to distance himself from the emotional response.
Not that he was behaving in a wholly predictable way.
Turning up to decorate her flat had been completely out of character for a start. Calling in a professional-no, asking Miranda to call in a professional to do the job-that was more his style.
And cancelling business appointments? What was that all about?
She picked up her phone, flipped it open and called her insurance company and had Daisy’s name added to her policy as a named driver.
Then she set about responding to all the messages.
Practical, unemotional. Ivo would be proud of her, she thought, except that his kiss had felt totally emotional.
Not in a big dramatic way. It wasn’t a you’re-hot-I’m-horny-come-to-bed kiss. It was an I’m-here-for-you kiss. A tender I-care-for-you kiss. She could almost have fooled herself that it was an I-love-you kiss.
If it had been anyone else.
She really should warn him about Simone’s diary, she rationalised. There wasn’t a thing they could do about it, but he’d at least be prepared for the fallout, the never-ending phone calls. Take action to avoid either him or Miranda being door-stepped by the press. Although, actually, she pitied any journalist who decided to take on Miranda.
She’d meant to tell him, but then Daisy had turned up and put it right out of her head.
It was time to bring Jace and her PR people into the loop too. Prepare a statement…
She flipped open the phone again and called up the address book. Then decided that Ivo had done enough chasing after her. It was time she went to the house, went through her things and sorted out what she was going to keep, what could go to a charity shop.
It was only when she stopped for petrol, to pick up a pair of L plates, that she discovered that her purse had been filleted like a kipper.
But for bones, read credit cards and cash.
It seemed that she didn’t have much choice.
‘I’m sorry, Ivo. I’m so sorry.’ Belle had said it a dozen times. ‘I should have cut them up.’
She’d called him on his mobile and he’d come and bailed her out at the garage, then followed her back to the flat and was now sitting on the end of her bed, waiting for the call centre to answer while she checked to see what else was missing.
The only jewellery she’d had in the flat had been the choker and earrings she’d worn to the awards ceremony- precious only because Ivo had given them to her.
She’d abandoned them on the dressing table last night, not bothering to put them away.
Tempting glitter.
Her antique wedding ring was safe. Please let it be safe…
She opened the drawer in the base of her mirror, clutched at her stomach.
‘Belle?’
She shook her head. It was too awful. She couldn’t tell him…
‘I meant to cut them up,’ she repeated, just a little desperately. If she concentrated on the credit cards, she could blot out this, more painful, loss. ‘Your cards.’ She rarely used them. ‘I should have left them at the house. If I’d been more organised-’
‘I’m grateful that you weren’t,’ he said, hanging on, waiting in an apparently endless queue for his call to be answered so that he could cancel the cards.
‘Grateful?’
‘You wouldn’t have called me if the only stuff she’d taken was yours.’ She neither confirmed nor denied it. ‘Would you?’ he persisted.
‘She’s my sister.’ Confronted with his impassive face, she said, ‘Really.’ It wasn’t just that she’d called her Bella. ‘There are things she said to me that no one else…’ She raised her hand to her mouth, unable to say the words.
‘Hush…’ He reached out. Took it, kissed it, then held it, as he’d hold a child’s hand, for comfort. ‘It’s okay. We’ll get your stuff back, but I have to do this first. One call…’
‘Get it back?’ She tried to pull away but he closed his hand around hers, holding her a little more firmly, keeping her close. ‘You aren’t going to call the police! Please, Ivo!’
The call centre finally answered and she was forced to wait while he gave the details of the cards.
‘Okay, all done. We’ll get the new ones in a couple of days.’
‘I don’t want new cards. Ivo, promise me you won’t go to the police!’
