Mendez's Mistress

O N S ATURDAY morning Rachel was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her third cup of coffee of the day and trying to make sense of the pages she’d written the night before, when Daisy came clattering down the stairs.

It was barely seven, and on any normal weekend morning it would have been virtually impossible to get her daughter out of bed before nine o’clock. But clearly Daisy’s mind was fixated on the same issue that had kept Rachel awake half the night.

‘Did he ring?’

Daisy didn’t waste time on polite preamble, and Rachel put down her coffee cup and shuffled her pages into a single pile. ‘No.’

‘He didn’t?’ Daisy stared at her aghast. ‘I thought that must be why you were up so early.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no one’s rung. Either last night, or this morning.’

Daisy looked dismayed. ‘But he said he would ring,’ she protested, and Rachel thought that, despite all her efforts to appear grown up, her daughter was still very much a child with a child’s simplistic view of the world.

Getting to her feet, she gave Daisy a hug and said, ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, sweetheart. I expect his meeting went on longer than he’d anticipated, and perhaps he had other plans for the evening.’

Plans that had no doubt included the company of some ravishing female, Rachel reflected drily. A man like Mendez was hardly likely to spend his nights alone. He was far too attractive; far too sexy. He didn’t wear a wedding ring—not that that meant a lot, if Steve was anything to go by—but there was bound to be some glamorous socialite who found his slightly cruel good looks and sensual appeal absolutely fascinating. As she did, Rachel admitted reluctantly. Though in her case, she assured herself, it was a purely professional assessment.

‘How long does a phone call take?’ Daisy pulled away from her mother and went to take a carton of milk out of the fridge. Pouring herself a glass, she added sulkily, ‘I wish Dad had arranged for me to fly with British Airways. Then we wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else.’

Rachel was tempted to second that, but she was sensible enough to know that, however tardy he might be, they hadn’t heard the last of Joe Mendez. ‘Give it until lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Then, if we still haven’t heard anything, I’ll ring him.’ She felt a hollowing in her stomach at the thought but she ignored it. ‘Okay?’

‘Oh, cool!’ Daisy’s upper lip was still coated with milk as she came and gave her mother a wet kiss on her cheek. Her delight was unmistakeable. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Refusing to consider what she was going to say if she had to contact Mendez, Rachel scrubbed the place Daisy’s lips had touched with a rueful hand. Then, wrapping her cotton dressing-gown closer about her, she picked up the manuscript and started for the door. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long. Then I’ll get breakfast.’

‘I can do that.’ Daisy finished her milk and popped the glass into the dishwasher. ‘What would you like? I can make French toast.’

‘Just toast will do,’ said Rachel, guessing the girl was only trying to be helpful. But as she started up the stairs she hoped that, by offering to ring Mendez, she hadn’t given Daisy the idea that she wouldn’t object if her daughter rang him herself.

Knowing she had to go out sometime today to do some food shopping, Rachel dressed in jeans and a black V-necked tee shirt. She dried her hair and then caught it up in a loose knot on top of her head. She didn’t bother with any make-up, and a pair of strappy leather sandals completed her outfit. She looked what she was, she thought, surveying her appearance without conceit: a single mother approaching middle age, with no particular claim to either youth or beauty.

Daisy had the toast ready when she re-entered the kitchen, and there was fresh coffee simmering on the hob. Daisy had taken the time to dress too, though her baggy cut-offs and cropped tank top looked as if they’d spent the night on her bedroom floor.

‘There you go,’ she said, setting the toast on the table where a jar of marmalade and the butter dish already resided; if her cheeks looked a little pink, Rachel put it down to the heat of the grill.

‘This looks good.’ Although she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, Rachel buttered a slice of toast and spooned on a little of the marmalade. Then, taking a bite, she looked expectantly up at her daughter. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘I had some cornflakes,’ said Daisy quickly. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

‘No.’ But Rachel’s brows drew together as she spoke. Then, dismissing the suspicion that Daisy wasn’t being altogether truthful, she added, ‘I’ll have to go out later. We’ve got nothing in the fridge, and I need some fresh bread.’

‘But you can’t.’

Daisy spoke impulsively and Rachel looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘Why not?’

‘Well—because Mr Mendez is going to phone, isn’t he?’

‘So?’ Rachel’s gaze turned to one of enquiry. ‘We have an answerphone. If we’re not here, I’m sure he’ll leave a message, and I can ring him back.’

Daisy pressed her lips together. ‘But what if he comes round?’

‘Comes round?’ Rachel was wary. ‘Why on earth would he come round?’ Not to see her, she was sure. ‘He’s said he’ll phone. And, if he doesn’t, I’ve already said I’ll phone him.’

‘He’s not in,’ said Daisy quickly, and Rachel’s eyes widened in disbelief.

‘He’s not in?’ she echoed. Then, shaking her head to clear it, she went on, ‘How do you know he’s not in?’

But she didn’t need the girl to answer. She already knew. Daisy had done what she’d been half-afraid she might and had phoned Mendez while she was in the shower.

‘I—I spoke to that man who works for him,’ Daisy confessed unhappily. ‘Mr Mendez calls him Charles.’ She bit her lip, perhaps hoping that Rachel would take pity on her. But when it became apparent that her mother wasn’t about to speak, she hurried on, ‘He—he was really offhand.’

Rachel regarded her disapprovingly. ‘And that surprises you?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s barely eight o’clock, Daisy. It’s Saturday, and people don’t appreciate being woken up so early.’

Daisy’s expression lightened. ‘So maybe Mr Mendez was really there?’ she suggested. ‘But this man—Charles—didn’t want to disturb him.’ She looked encouragingly at her mother. ‘Do you think that’s what happened?’

‘It’s possible.’ But Rachel suspected it wasn’t that simple. It was far more likely that Mendez had slept elsewhere, and her stomach tightened at the thought. Then, dismissing the images that evoked from her mind, she said, ‘It would serve you right if Mr Mendez decided that taking you to Florida was more trouble than it was worth. Then your father would be stuck with your air fare. I wonder how he’d feel about that?’

It was a low blow, and Rachel regretted letting her own disappointment rule her tongue. She wanted Daisy to spend time with Steve; of course she did. It was just hard to accept that her daughter wasn’t so different from her father after all.

Daisy looked positively mortified now, and, knowing she couldn’t let her shoulder all the blame for the way she was feeling, she sighed. ‘Look, I’m sure that’s not going to happen. But you have to be patient. I imagine Mr Mendez has more important matters than arranging your trip to attend to. If you take my advice, you’ll let him get back to you in his own good time.’

‘But what if he forgets?’

Rachel’s laugh was bitter. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s likely,’ she said drily. ‘Now, I suggest you let me finish my coffee, and then you can come with me to the supermarket.’

It was after eleven by the time they got back to the house. Despite Daisy’s agitation, Rachel had been determined not to let Joe Mendez think that she, at least, was desperate for his assistance. Daisy was thirteen, after all, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t make the journey on her own on a commercial flight. Rachel knew that the air crew could be relied upon to keep an eye on her, and Steve would be meeting her in Miami.

Consequently, it was something of a blow to find the powerful SUV parked at their gate when she turned into Castle Close. Although she’d only seen the vehicle once before, the identity of its owner was unquestionable, and she didn’t need Daisy’s cry of excitement to reinforce her opinion.

‘It’s Mr Mendez!’ Daisy exclaimed, hopping out of Rachel’s modest Audi as soon as she applied the brake. ‘I wonder how long he’s been waiting? I told you we shouldn’t have gone out.’

Rachel reserved judgment on that, but in any case she had no time to reply. Daisy was already running to the front of the Lexus, full of excitement as she waited for Joe Mendez to open the door.

He did so at once. Long, powerful legs encased in tight-fitting black jeans again this morning appeared; tan-coloured deck shoes, once more without socks, lowered to the pavement. As she stood, Rachel glimpsed a white tee shirt in the open V of a black knitted polo, which exposed his arms and the dark shadow of his tattoo. There was a dark shadow on his jawline too, she noticed, so evidently he hadn’t bothered to shave. But the slightly dishevelled look suited him. He was that kind of man.