Read Online Where Memories Lie by Deborah Crombie - Free Book Online

the bell at Dominic’s house, heard it chime musically. Suddenly she felt queasy and almost turned away, but the door swung open.
    It wasn’t Dom. Ellen Miller-Scott stared at her, one perfect eyebrow raised quizzically. She wore designer yoga gear in pale gray, and Kristin felt sure the outfit had never seen a particle of sweat. Her blond hair was flawless, her makeup understatedly glowing.
    “I want to talk to Dom,” Kristin blurted out, sounding to her own ears like a petulant child.
    “I’m sorry, darling, he’s not here.” Ellen smiled. “I rather fancied he was with you. Can I give him a message?”
    Kristin felt a painful flush of color rise to the roots of her hair. “I’ll ring him. Or I’ll tell him when he rings me.” Bitch. She could feel the woman laughing at her humiliation, was sure she would have snickered at Kristin’s attack of middle-class morals last night. “Thanks,” she forced out, turning on her heel.
    “You’re welcome,” Ellen called after her, silvery sweet.
    Kristin started back the way she had come, eyes on her feet, face still burning. It was only when someone knocked into her shoulder, hard, that she looked up and saw Dom coming towards her along Cheyne Walk. Her heart did its usual flip-flop, regardless of her wishes. He hadn’t seen her.
    She had an instant to take in the too-long hair, unwashed, brushed back from his face, the suit jacket and dress shirt over jeans and trainers, worn with a disregard that spoke not of style but of his having thrown on the first things within reach on the floor. Where the hell had he spent the night?
    Then he looked up and saw her. “Kristin!” He paled, a hard feat for someone whose skin already looked like putty. Reaching her, he touched her shoulder, then her face, gazing at her with a painful intensity. “What are you doing here? I tried to ring you—”
    “You did not.” She stepped back. “I checked my messages. You left me stranded at that fucking club—”
    “I can explain—”
    “No, you can’t.” The words seemed to come from an unexpected place within her. “There’s no excuse, Dom. I deserve better than that.”
    He stared at her. Passersby parted around them, as if they were the Rock of Gibraltar in a moving sea. “No, you’re right,” he said slowly, and a fear she couldn’t explain shot through her.
    Her resolution failed. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
    “No. You’re right. There’s no excuse.” He was still looking at her with that gobsmacked expression, his gray eyes wide. “No excuse for expecting you to deal with me being fucked up. I’m not worth it.” He touched her cheek again, and she shuddered with a sinking dread. “I think maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a bit, while I try to straighten things out,” he went on. “If there’s anything, you know, with the job, Harry can let me know. That’s for the best, don’t you think, love?” He waited, head slightly bowed, as if expecting absolution.
    “You bastard.” Planting her feet a little more firmly, Kristin pulled back her arm and smacked him across the face as hard as she could.
     
    It wasn’t until Kincaid had gone up to check on Gemma after her bath that he thought to ask her about Erika.
    Gemma lay curled under the duvet, Geordie snuggled beside her. “Sometimes I think this dog is out to replace me,” he said, sitting on the bed and fondling one of Geordie’s dark gray ears.
    “He can’t do the washing-up, so I think you’re safe,” Gemma answered drowsily as he pulled the duvet up around her shoulders a bit more firmly.
    “You never told me what Erika wanted last night.”
    “Oh.” Gemma blinked and pulled herself up a little. “She lost a valuable brooch during the war, and it’s turned up for auction at Harrowby’s. She wants me to look into it.”
    Frowning, Kincaid said, “How are you going to manage that, with your mum ill? Can’t you tell her it’s too much?”
    “I can’t not help Erika. I’ll