Read Online Death in High Places by Jo Bannister - Free Book Online

“Yes.”
    â€œAnd my father brought you here. Took the risk that he’d follow you here.”
    â€œI said at the time it wasn’t a great idea,” growled Horn.
    â€œDid he kidnap you? Did he force you into his car?” Horn shook his head. “So actually you could have got out and disappeared into the night,” Beth pointed out. “Mack may not have known who you were and the risk he was taking by helping you, but you did. You didn’t have to come back here with him. You could have thanked him for his help and said good-bye.”
    â€œI was”—he couldn’t find a description that didn’t sound like a plea for sympathy and finished lamely—“pretty groggy.”
    â€œPretty groggy,” she echoed, expressionless. “That’s an excuse, is it? For leading a dangerous man to someone’s door?”
    â€œI didn’t…” He heard himself starting to rise to her bait, forced his voice level again. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be here. Once I leave you’ll be safe.”
    â€œMack wants you to stay.”
    â€œYou don’t know how to open the door?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.” She took the step forward that Horn had taken back, her head tipped a little to one side, exploring his face intently, as if searching for holds, for a way in. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œI told you. Trying to leave.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou know why.”
    â€œTo keep us safe? That’s a pretty noble gesture from anyone with a killer on his heels. From someone who dropped his best friend off a mountain when the going got tough, it’s incredible.” Her voice dropped a tone into cynicism. “Literally.”
    She seemed to want to have it all out with him again. In case there’d been some comment on his shortcomings she’d forgotten to make, some part of the old wound she’d omitted to claw open. But there was no time to indulge her; and anyway Horn knew the recriminations would just go round and round and get her nowhere. He’d ridden the carousel often enough himself.
    â€œBeth, I can’t change what happened. I can’t change how you feel about me. All I can do is leave you in peace, and I can’t do that unless you open the door.”
    â€œWhy would I do that? I’ve spent the last four years wanting to meet you, working out what I’d say.”
    â€œAnd now you’ve said it. So let me go.”
    â€œFour years is a long time,” she said quietly. “You have no idea how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking what I’d do, what I’d say, if I had you to myself. Oh no. I’ve a lot more I want to say before I open the door. And then I won’t let you out. I’ll throw you out.”
    Horn breathed heavily. It seemed to be all he could do right now. “Fine. But do it quickly.”
    She shook her head. “Revenge is a dish best served cold. Have some more coffee.” She looked around. “Where’s Mack?”
    â€œWhy do you call him that?”
    She elevated an eyebrow. “You really don’t know anything about us, do you? Everyone calls him that. Even in the City. I believe the prime minister calls him that.”
    â€œAnd that means you have to?” Horn shook his head, bemused. He’d never understood what made the upper classes tick. Until now, he’d had no reason to care.
    â€œHe likes it. Someone at the FT called him Mack the Knife and it stuck.” She gave him a crocodile grin. “I suppose you call your father Dad. No—Da. Fewer consonants.”
    In the English comedy of manners, it’s considered perfectly acceptable for the working class to deride the wealthy, but not the other way round. There were probably no other circumstances in which she’d have mocked his two-up, two-down accent. But she was too angry to be fair.
    Horn had been called a lot worse