The Architect Read online

  I delete and start again.

  Heath, I’m in love with you...

  I delete again. Maybe it’s best coming from a phone call. Texting just seems to lose all meaning sometimes, and he might read me wrong. At least if I was on the phone and he could hear my voice, he would hear how I truly felt. I search for his name and hover my thumb over the telephone symbol until my phone buzzes and I exit the screen to see a new email. Touching on the envelope icon, I open the mail from the unfamiliar address.

  Ruth,

  Where did you vanish to last night? I was disappointed that I didn’t get to have my kinky way with you. I’d like to see you again. When will you next be visiting my club?

  George.

  P.S. If you’re wondering how I got your email address, don’t forget I own the club that you registered at ;)

  Studying the words slowly, my frown becomes deeper and deeper with every word. The cheek of the guy! This is an invasion of privacy, even if he does own the club. Thank God I didn’t give my real number or address.

  I think better of replying and giving him a mouthful; instead I remember Liz’s request and delete the message.

  Putting Mr. Stalker to the back of my mind, I focus on Heath’s number once more. After several minutes I finally pluck up the courage and press the phone icon. The phone rings and I strain my ear in hope that I will hear his well-spoken, deep voice. Yet at the same time I hope to hear nothing. His voice fills my head, and my heart thuds until I realise it’s his voicemail, and he’s asking me to leave a message.

  The tone beeps before I have time to think, so I hang up. Putting my phone on the passenger seat, I start my engine and journey home, fantasising about Heath and this new dark and exciting side of sex he is slowly introducing me to.

  Stepping into the sanctuary that I call home, I scoop up the post and plod along to the kitchen. Slamming the mail down onto my desert island in annoyance at the fact that Heath still hasn’t contacted me, I recognise the handwriting on one of the letters.

  Why would she be writing to me? Because it’s Dad’s anniversary tomorrow? Sliding my nail along the glued edge of the envelope, I read;

  Ruth,

  I am writing to inform you of my marriage this August. I would like you and Sally to be here. After all, we were a family for years and it wouldn’t feel the same without you here for my big day. Please RSVP so I can send you a formal invitation, or feel free to call in.

  All the best,

  Veronica.

  My blood boils with hatred as I rip the paper in half. My eyes fill with tears at the remembrance of my dad and all the torture she put him through. All the pain she caused for us all with her demanding ways, her hatred towards me and Sally, and then the final nail in the coffin when she had an affair with one of my dad’s friends.

  I’m interrupted from my cursing as my mobile starts to ring, and I answer with a snuffled, “Hello?”

  “Hello, gorgeous, how are you today?”

  His voice is so calm and trustworthy. I burst into tears.

  “Are you okay, darling?”

  I wipe my eyes with a tea towel and sniff. “No, not really.”

  “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Sitting down, I take a deep breath before saying, “It’s the anniversary of my father’s death tomorrow.”

  His voice softens. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “That’s not all. I’ve just received a wedding invitation to my stepmother’s wedding this summer.”

  “Well, never mind about her. What are you doing tomorrow? Will you be alone?”

  My voice harshens. “Never mind about her? She’s the reason my dad is dead!”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  I think before I speak another word, and decide to open up and tell him all. “She had an affair with some rich guy that my dad knew, and well, my dad found out and he...” Tears build in my eyes again. “He hung himself.”

  The air fills with my sniffles and blubbering for a few seconds before he responds with, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. It’s just good to finally say it out loud to someone.”

  “Can I give you some advice?” he asks, cautiously.

  “Of course.”

  “Go and see your stepmother, if only to tell her what you really think of her.”

  “Why?”

  He breathes out. “Because it will make you feel better, and maybe help to put some sort of closure on it.”

  Is he speaking from experience? Or is he just throwing ideas out there to make me feel better? Either way, I don’t have the energy to question him about it now.

  “I have thought about it before. About going to see her and telling her how I feel. Maybe you’re right, maybe I should.”

  “Maybe.”

  Car horns beeping from his end of the telephone and people chatting prompt me to ask where he is.

  “Oh yes, that’s the reason I called. I’m on my way up to Scotland. Something has gone wrong with some plans, so I’ve had to start making my way up there to sort it out with them face to face.”

  My heart sinks. “Oh.”

  “I was ringing to tell you, and to ask if you would like to come up and spend the week with me. I was going to call sooner and have you travel with me, but I figured you would need to pack half of your wardrobe, so I decided to give you the luxury of time and preparation.”

  Without hesitation, I reply, “I’d love to.” Then reality kicks in. “But I’ve got work.”

  “Don’t you have any holiday you can take?”

  “I do, but they won’t accept it before Monday.”

  He pleads, “Then call in sick. I need you with me.”

  My feelings lift again as they always do when he’s around. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Okay, darling. I’ve got to get back on the road now, so I’ll ring you when I get there. And listen, tomorrow I am here whenever you need to talk, okay?”

  I smile. “Okay, thank you.”

  “Goodbye, gorgeous.”

  “Goodbye, Heath.”

  A beep signals the end of our call, and I sit and stare at my phone, wishing he was here to throw his muscly arms around me and hold me close until tomorrow was over. But he’s not, so a drink at my favourite bar will have to do for tonight.

  I wait for a reasonable drinking hour and order a taxi to take me to ‘Long John’s’.

  ***

  At the bar with brandy in hand, I sit and listen to the mellow noises of the saxophone while practising my script for tomorrow when I knock on Veronica’s door and give her what for. Going to see her is the best thing to do. I can’t live with this woman forever eating away at me; she needs to hear it, and be put in her place once and for all.

  I get another email from George while I’m sitting here minding my own business, imagining that I’m giving her a good old slap. This time telling me how he can’t get me and my beauty out of his head, and he wants to meet me again, soon.

  Is he serious? We spoke for all of three minutes. Ignoring his words once again, I down my drink, order another, and carry on acting out the scene with my stepmother in my head.

  A couple of hours, and half a dozen drinks later, I’m still debating what to say to her, and waiting for Heath to call. Not being able to resist temptation any more, I dial his number.

  He answers almost immediately. “Hello, beautiful.”

  Half-sloshed, I reply, “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice an octave higher.

  “No, just merry.” I pause before inquiring again, “So, why didn’t
you call me?”

  “As soon as I got here I was collared by an old friend. I was going to ring the second I was sorted, but I haven’t had a moment to myself yet. I’m sorry, darling.”

  Friend? What friend? My jealous emotions race through my mind. A woman? A colleague? With confidence brought on by alcohol consumption, I come right out and ask, “Who’s this friend, then?”

  He’s silent.

  “Oh my God, you’re married, aren’t you?”

  “No,” he replies, sounding amused. “It’s just a woman I became acquainted with the last time I stayed up here.”

  “Acquainted.” I laugh bitterly. “And how exactly is it that you two are ‘acquainted’?”

  His voice turns stern. “Stop it, Ruth.”

  “No.” I lean on the bar. “Do tell.”

  He huffs. “We went out a few times the last time I was here and we-”

  I cut him off angrily. “Shag her on the first night too, did you?”

  “Ruth!” he snaps. “I’m not prepared to talk about these sorts of things when you’re pissed.”

  “I told you I’m not! And how am I meant to feel about-” I stop midsentence as I hear a woman’s voice calling him.

  “Look, Ruth, I’ve got to go. Please trust me, there is nothing going on between us. It’s just business.”

  “Yeah, what kind of business?” I say sarcastically, before hanging up on him.

  Leaning on the counter, seething, becoming angrier with every second that he doesn’t text or attempt to call me, I decide in my jealous rage to email George back.

  George,

  I find it an invasion of privacy that you have done such a thing as to steal my email address. However, I will let you off this time. And as for you missing me and my beauty, tell me more.

  Ruth.

  By the time I’ve ordered another brandy and taken my first sip, he has responded with;

  Ruth,

  I can’t say I am sorry for invading your privacy. It had to be done. But I am sorry I haven’t invaded it further. And as for your beauty... Maybe we could meet and I could tell you of these things face to face. How does tomorrow night sound?

  George.

  With my jealousy still bubbling away at me, I reply with;

  Tomorrow night sounds good. Where and what time?

  His reply is a request to pick me up at eight and take me to an Italian restaurant in the heart of London.

  Shooting the rest of the Cognac down my throat, I stupidly email him with my true address and tell him I can’t wait, before ordering a taxi and heading home to sleep off the alcohol.

  On the whirling drive back my mobile rings. Oh, look who’s finally decided to call and say sorry.

  I let the phone ring a while before greeting him with, “Yes?”

  “Why did you hang up on me?” he growls.

  “I thought you and your acquaintance needed some privacy.” My voice oozes irony.

  “Ruth, stop behaving like a bloody teenager. I told you, it’s just work.”

  “Ha. Like a teenager? Well, I suppose you could say that.”

  “What does that mean? Where are you?”

  “What does it matter to you where I am?”

  The taxi driver eyeballs me in the mirror. “Left here?”

  “Who are you with?” Heath’s tone is now fierce.

  He obviously just heard the taxi driver, and I’m not in the mood to reassure him, so I let his mind run wild.

  “It doesn’t matter, I’ve got to go now, Heath. ‘Bye.” I press the red button, and a state of satisfaction takes over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dreaded day arrives, and I stare out of my window up to the clear blue sky and say a few words to my dad, before dressing myself in a white blouse, tight black pencil skirt and court heels to go and confront the dragon Veronica. I know today probably isn’t the right day to do this, but I just have to get it out of the way.

  As I pace the downstairs rooms, feeling sick at the thought of seeing her face again, and at the thought of losing Heath after my childish behaviour last night, my phone rings. Flashing on my screen, I see his name and I get ready to apologise after answering with a sweet, “Hello”.

  “Hello.” He still sounds pissed off, so I jump in before he can say another word.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  His tone becomes friendlier. “It’s okay.” He carries on with a caring voice. “How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m as good as I can be. I’ve decided to take your advice.”

  “Really? What advice was that?”

  “I’m going to see my stepmum.”

  Shocked, he replies, “Today?”

  “Yes. I was just in the middle of psyching myself up as you rang.”

  “Are you sure today is a good day to be doing this?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s now or never.”

  “Well, I hope it goes as well as it can. Make sure you ring me when you’re through with her.”

  “I will.”

  He changes the subject, probably in the hope that it will lighten my mood. “So, are you bringing your fine self up to the Highlands to see me, or what?”

  “I’ll have to let you know tomorrow when I have had a word with work, if that’s all right.”

  He jokes, “No,” then carries on, “but I suppose it will have to do.”

  “It will have to do, Mr. Berkley. I’m not getting myself into any more trouble.”

  “Trouble? I’m yet to get you into any of that, Miss Watson.”

  “Hmm, you’re right, but I’m hoping you will soon.”

  Silence hangs on the air until I realise what I just said. I’ve probably scared him half to death with the idea of ‘getting me into trouble’.

  I laugh. “I didn’t mean-”

  “I know what you meant. You want to be naughty purposely so I take you over my knee and give you a good thrashing, don’t you?”

  “You’re evil.” I giggle.

  “Nowhere near as evil as I want, or am going to be with you, my darling.”

  I smile. “Well, you’re going to have to tell me all about that after I’m through with this old witch.”

  “I would be happy to. Now, go and do what you’ve got to do, and remember, I am here if you need me.”

  “Thank you, Heath.”

  “You’re welcome. Speak to you later.”

  I end the call with a goodbye and finish off my coffee, before grabbing my keys and taking the driver’s seat of my car.

  Pulling away from my house and heading towards my childhood home, my stomach starts to swirl, and I feel sick. Opening the window and putting on some happy tunes, I calm my nerves and concentrate on the roads.

  Parking up just around the corner from the witch’s lair, I check my face in the rear-view mirror and fluff my hair. If I’m going to do this properly, I have got to look good and feel confident. Grabbing my emergency lip gloss from the glove box, I give my lips a thorough coating, then take a deep breath, and proceed down memory lane until I reach the parking bay outside the house.

  Looking up at the building that is set back from the road on a small hill, I remember the last time I was here. Memories of my father’s funeral come flooding back to me.

  Shaking away the worst memory known to my mind, I grab my phone and text Heath.

  Well, here goes. Wish me luck. X

  Clutching the door handle, I stop. The front door of the house has opened and Veronica has walked out. I watch as she steps out in her everyday white trouser suit with her perfect blonde bun, and turns to say goodbye to an unseen person. A kiss is exchanged between the two, but I can’t work out who it is. It’s a man, for sure, her husband-to-be no doubt. She
steps away and trots towards her red BMW, and finally the man is exposed.

  My insides race as my adrenaline pumps, and my mind goes hazy for a second or two. No. It can’t be. I look again, almost knocking myself out on the window. It is. Oh my God it is.

  It’s George Randall! And he’s standing there all broad and mighty in the doorway, waving her off like he owns the place. He’s the love affair. The friend. The rich guy. The reason my dad is dead!

  My mind and body turn numb, and I sit and watch as she drives away. George shuts the door. Wanting to jump out of the car and race up there to confront him, my devious mind takes over. This could work in my favour. I could hurt her like she hurt my dad. Like she hurt me and Sally. I could make the pair of them lose everything if I play my cards right. I could have this bastard eating out the palm of my hand before sundown if I wanted. Then what would she do? To find her fancy man in love with her detested stepdaughter?

  My phone pings.

  Good luck, darling, not that you need it. You’re amazing. H x

  Throwing the phone down onto the passenger seat, I drive away calmly, so I don’t attract attention. Away from the proximity of town, I park up outside an old abandoned pub and let the disgust fall from my eyes as my memory smacks me in the chest with the emails I sent last night, and the thought of him touching me in the club.

  Trying to steady the fall of my tears, I hear my phone chiming. I inhale and calm my shaking hands before answering with a pert, “Hi.”

  “Hey. Sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you went in. Are you in?”

  “No, there was nobody home, would you believe,” I lie.

  He sounds pleased. “Always the way. But I’m glad, because there was something I wanted to ask you.”

  Trying not to sniffle and give my emotion away, I ask what.

  “I’m not really sure how to say it.” He stops and I can almost hear his body becoming nervous. “After last night... The thought of you with another man... Well, to be honest, it drove me wild with jealousy.”

  I smile and remain quiet.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Ruth, but I feel as though I want to possess you. Do you know what I mean?”

  I frown. “I’m not sure.”