Page 2 of Enemies Under One Roof

He took an automatic step to comfort her, until he remembered; Ivy was an actress, a brilliant one. She had a swath of awards to prove it and he’d sworn he’d never be duped by her again.

Hadn’t he learnt anything from his upbringing?

‘I contacted you a week ago.’ Coldness flooded his voice. He was relieved he hadn’t betrayed any of his conflicting thoughts, yet felt no satisfaction when she flinched.

‘Did you…get to see her?’ Her lips trembled. ‘Before she di—’

‘No. I arrived afterwards.’

She hugged the photo frame to her chest.

‘It was a massive stroke. It wouldn’t have made any difference if anyone had been with her.’ He’d told himself the same thing. It hadn’t eased the pain at the thought of Ruby dying alone, or his guilt. ‘It happened while she was asleep.’ The only thing that gave him any comfort.

Placing a slender hand on the back of the overstuffed pink-and-white floral armchair, she gingerly moved around it. Lowering herself, she painted a picture of pale despair as his frustration raged.

What was acting?

What was real?

What he did know, though, was that he wasn’t going to keep standing just inside the doorway.

He moved to the fireplace and a prickle of sweat broke out on his nape, like the fire roared, instead of remaining unlit on this unseasonably warm autumn day. He shifted his legs to the brace position.

Don’t show any discomfort.

Ivy stared at the photo of Ruby resting on her knees as he reacquainted himself with the real-life version of the woman he’d never been able to fully avoid. He’d catch sight of her online, on magazine covers, on the news.

To find her here, now, was the last thing he’d expected and he hated being caught off guard. He’d known he’d have to deal with her eventually, but not today. Even worse, regardless of his abject resistance, her appeal was more potent and far more disturbing than he’d allowed himself to remember. Despite the make-up and designer clothes, she carried an air of vulnerability in the set of her shoulders, the jut of her chin, that called to some deep dark part of him that only she seemed to unearth. And he detested that. He could never trust her again, an actress who didn’t flutter an eyelash at destroying marriages or using him for photo opportunities, just like his mother had.

‘And yesterday, how did it go?’ she whispered, raising her head to stare intently at the landscape painting that hung over the fireplace, like she’d never seen it before, although it had been in the same place for as long as Ethan could remember.

‘It was…’ He paused to collect himself, the lump in his throat intensifying. How could he describe what yesterday had been like?

‘A celebration of her amazing life,’ Ivy finished for him.

‘Yes,’ he croaked.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here—that I missed it.’ Crossing her arms she rubbed them in an oddly protective gesture. ‘That I couldn’t make it.’

‘And yet, you waited five days to tell me, via your assistant.’

Her eyes locked on his for a fully loaded minute. ‘Yes. Are you going to offer me a drink?’

It took a moment for her words to register. The very reason he’d come into the room, which he’d forgotten the moment he’d seen her. Although both of them knew she could get it herself, it was one of Ruby’s preferences that if a man was present, he poured the drinks from the well-stocked antique drinks cabinet. Old-fashioned as it was, he’d always honoured Ruby’s wishes, and obviously so had Ivy. He nodded tersely and made for the other side of the silk wallpapered room.

‘You’re having?’ he asked.

‘A soda water please.’

‘With?’ She looked like she could do with something stronger, like him.

‘Nothing, thanks.’

Ivy didn’t drink alcohol anymore? That day she’d had a never-ending glass of champagne in her hand. When she’d been the absolute life of Ruby’s eightieth birthday party, animatedly circulating amongst the guests and dancing the charleston in her red tasselled dress, drawing all eyes to her. And as much as it sickened him to admit it, especially his. He mentally pulled himself up; he wasn’t heading down that path again.

Crouching, he opened the double walnut doors, revealing two shelves of sparkling crystal glassware reflected in its mirrored back. Selecting two, he placed them on the cabinet’s polished surface next to an ice bucket and assortment of decanters. Filling hers with ice and soda water, he fixed a tumbler of brandy for himself and fought the urge to knock it back in one shot.

Instead, the click of ice cubes loud in the otherwise quiet room, he headed towards her. Her eyes widened and his chest tightened, but still he kept going until he stood before her and held out her drink. She raised a hand and her scent washed over him. Was it her perfume, soap, shampoo? He didn’t know, only he’d never smelt its likeness anywhere else. A mix of floral and something uniquely her that reminded him of springtime, that he never realised he’d stored in his memory banks, until now.