A Chance Encounter by Rae Shaw (e manga reader TXT) 📗

of power. ‘You hoped he’d give up with the appeals. I bet he would have happily pleaded guilty and accepted his fate. But he didn't or couldn't. Your mother is behind all this, isn’t she?’

The height difference was subtle, yet Jackson, though only a couple of inches taller, towered over Mark.

‘I knew he’d killed a man. But I believed him when he said it was self-defence not murder. But yes, she walked all over him. Bullied him for years and years. I hate her!’ He screwed his hands into boxer’s fists.

Jackson stepped back, leaving Mark to expel a rasping breath.

‘She made him the way he is,’ he said, bitterly. ‘He was a decent man once. But she's greedy, always wants more money for her clothes, nights out, whatever. He's no backbone; a gentleman with women, but he won't stand up to her. He started stealing or selling stolen stuff just for her. All that extra cash went into her pocket. We weren’t poor. She's a selfish, greedy bitch.’ He paused, seeing Jackson’s reaction, the taint of grief in his eyes. True, it wasn’t all her fault. ‘Then everything went wrong. Wrong people. Wrong criminals. Wrong crime. She couldn’t deal with it – her husband a murderer! What would her precious friends think? He has to be innocent for her sake, not his.’

‘So here you are,’ Jackson said, calmly. ‘Outwardly the dutiful son, listening to his mother’s rants while deep down you despise her and know you can do nothing for your father, who, behind bars, kowtows.’

Mark let out a cry of frustration. He turned away, placed the palms of his hands on the cool wall and leaned against it for support. He was right next to one of Hettie's beautiful compositions. Breathing heavily, he waited for the pain to ease.

‘I’m coping,’ he said, quietly seething. ‘Was coping. But she wouldn’t stop ringing me. That voice, over and over in my head. I think Dad prefers being in prison. He doesn’t have to listen to her.’

‘For the time being he’ll remain there. Although, I'm inclined to hire a good lawyer for him and get him moved somewhere safe, so he can turn evidence. If he's safe, he might do it, but he isn’t.’ Jackson prodded Mark's shoulder. ‘Think, Mark. Think of what your father did.’

Mark pivoted and rested his shoulders next to painting of river punters; a serene scene. ‘The idea of young girls would appal him. So I guess he found out as much as he could about Zustaller's weak spots, killed the key contact to initiate a war and took the blame in the safety of jail. His only stumbling block was my mother and her insistence on proving him innocent. She nearly ruined everything.’

‘I think your father knows Ellen found out the truth. For him, that was unfortunate, she was too young to cope with it. However, he hoped you would persist in looking beyond the evidence to see the connections, but I had to help you, prod you. And watch over you. Although I apologise, I didn't anticipate the threat to Ellen, who, out of misguided and confused love for Bill, colluded to keep the secret of his guilt. Your father, in his own way, remains a decent man. Remember that.’

The room descended into silence. There was no mention of Haydocks. The unspoken question remained: had his father sent him where the money lay hidden in the hope of destroying Zustaller or stealing it for himself, corrupting his son in the process?

He pressed his hand to the throbbing temple. The blasted curse was back with a vengeance. The slightest sound was amplified in his skull. The nausea, acute.

Jackson’s voice was hushed, and catastrophically close, as if by Mark’s ear. ‘What happened, Mark? Did somebody beat you up?’

He shook his head, instantly regretting the sudden movement. ‘Nicky was going to... he isn't really that kind of person. Ellen chose right with him. It's me. I’ve not been well.’

Jackson poured him a cup of water. ‘Drink it all. You’re white as a sheet.’

He swallowed the arctic liquid in one go, feeling it strike his wretched stomach and form a cold puddle. He looked at his feet, unable to take Jackson’s searching blue eyes for another second.

Jackson gently patted his shoulder. ‘Good grief, you’re not going to be ostracised for what your father is or is perceived to be. That is your fear, I know it is. No, what you will do is stop living out the anger you feel towards you parents and concentrate on somebody more deserving of your attention. She’s waiting for you. Don’t deny it, you’ve fallen in love with Julianna. She certainly has with you.’ He dusted down Mark's jacket with a brush of his slender fingers and straightened the necktie.

‘You’ll do,’ said Jackson, stepping back with a smile. ‘Take some time. Go watch the best of Man United’s goals or whatever cheers you up, but perhaps you should seek out beneficial company. Plan a fancy romantic meal for her and tell her. Come back to work when you're ready.’

The heat rose into his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Jackson.’

He strode out past the bemused Diana, and straight to the lift.

  34

Julianna

Julianna usually typed quickly and with accuracy. However, not that morning. She ran her eye down the document, spotting a significant number of errors. She clucked her tongue and hit the backspace a few times with a furious stab of a digit. She should be feeling elated. It wasn’t happening; the sensation eluded her. The reason why was probably the lack of closure. Or the drop, the potent hangover following a thrilling adventure, when life returned to normality with a bump. Both probably.

Compared to emergency helicopter flights to Dublin and rescuing a woman about to be sold into sexual slavery, Monday morning was tedious. She examined her bruised hands