Page 18 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 4
Her palms began to sweat as she fought to keep her expression neutral. Something wasn’t right but she wasn’t entirely sure what.
‘Not necessarily the brightest, either,’ the journalist went on, his tone still nostalgic. ‘I suppose that’s got something to do with it.’
‘I don’t see what it has to do with anything,’ Maura replied, frowning.
Charlie waved an apologetic hand. ‘Thinking out loud. It’s an occupational hazard.’
Still suspicious, Maura took a sip of tea. ‘Do you think we could move onto the pottery?’ she asked. ‘That’s what you said you were interested in.’
‘Absolutely,’ he agreed. ‘The pottery. So you’ll forgive me for saying this, but the exhibition at the castle seems like a leap forward in your career. How did that come about?’
She took another sip of her drink. Ordinarily, she would have credited Fraser and the ghosts with introducing her to Ewan McRae, but she had the definite sense that would cause Charlie’s ears to prick up even further. ‘The castle is trying new ways to boost visitor engagement,’ she said, picking her words carefully. ‘They asked me to undertake some work as a local Edinburgh artist and I said yes. But I exhibit my pottery in galleries all over Scotland, including a couple here in the city. It’s a step up but it hasn’t come out of the blue.’
‘Right,’ the reporter said, tapping his pen against his notepad. ‘So it wasn’t a direct result of your affair with Fraser Bell?’
‘What?’ Maura felt her jaw drop.
Charlie’s gaze hardened. ‘Your affair with Bell,’ he repeated. ‘According to my source, the two of you met at a New Year party. Jamie’s drinking problem drove you and Fraser to rekindle your romance from your school days, behind his girlfriend’s back, while you pretended to be business partners. Isn’t that what happened?’
A dull roaring filled Maura’s ears. ‘No!’
He smiled but there was no humour in his eyes. He reminded Maura of a weasel baring its teeth. ‘You might as well admit it. My source has proof. Times, dates, locations of hookups – the works.’
And suddenly, everything clicked into place. This wasn’t an interview about her career at all, Maura realised. It was a trap to get dirt on Fraser, and she had walked right into it. Unsteadily, she pushed her chair back. ‘Which newspaper do you really work for?’ she asked, fighting to control the wobble in her voice. ‘Because I don’t think it’s theSunday Times.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘TheDaily News. You’re about to be famous for a whole lot more than crappy pottery, Maura.’
She glared at him, shaking with shock and rage. Ordinarily, she wasn’t a violent person, but his sly insinuations had made her want to hurl the sugar bowl at his head. It would be a mistake, she knew, but the thought did give her another idea; perhaps one that would hurt him more. Without a word, she picked up her barely touched cup of tea and splashed the contents onto his open notebook.
‘Hey!’ He leapt backwards to escape the tide of hot brown liquid flooding the table and snatched at the sodden pages. ‘That’s my work.’
‘I know,’ Maura said, watching the ink run on the dripping paper. ‘I hope you had a backup.’
Praying her shaking legs would not let her down, she turned on her heel and walked out. For a moment, the bright afternoon sunlight dazzled her, but every instinct was screaming at her to put as much distance between herself and the despicable Fleming as she could. Pausing briefly to get her bearings, she set off at pace along George Street, blinking back furious tears. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with – Fleming, for his lurid accusations and lies, or herself for trusting him in the first place. The email address should have been a red flag – Gmail rather than an officialSunday Timesaccount – but so many journalists were freelance these days and it hadn’t occurred to her to suspect an ulterior motive.
Snatches of the conversation leapt out as she walked; had she said anything to corroborate his story? She didn’t think so, but it was hard to be sure. And she couldn’t even call Fraser to explain what had happened, to warn him about the lies that were almost certainly about to be splashed all over the tabloids. He was in Los Angeles, living his lifelong dream – he’d sent her a photo of a glorious sunrise only yesterday. Never mind that the samebloody dream had just tipped Maura’s life upside down. While she knew it was unfair to blame him for what had just happened, it was also true that his burgeoning fame had caused it. But even so, she couldn’t bear the thought of spelling out the lurid details of her encounter with Fleming – the idea was simply too mortifying.
Instead, she pulled out her phone and rang her sister. ‘I think I’ve just done something really stupid,’ she said, when Kirsty answered. ‘And I don’t know what to do next.’
‘That utter toe-rag!’ Kirsty exploded when Maura poured out the awful story. ‘And pretending to be from a broadsheet so you’d talk to him – that’s low.’
Beside her on the sofa, Maura hung her head. ‘I know. I feel like such an idiot.’
‘It’s not your fault. How were you supposed to know you’d be targeted by tabloid journalists?’
The unspoken suggestion that the blame somehow lay with Fraser made Maura’s defensive hackles rise. She forced the instinct down, knowing that wasn’t what her sister had meant. ‘What am I going to do?’
Kirsty folded her arms. ‘There’s only one thing you can do – tell Fraser. Let him sort it out.’
The mere thought made Maura want to throw up. She shook her head. ‘He’s five thousand miles away – what is he going to do?’
‘I don’t know, maybe instruct his lawyers?’ Kirsty replied, exasperated. ‘Last time I checked, it was illegal to print things that aren’t true. It’s defamation or libel or something.’
‘But they haven’t printed it,’ Maura cried. ‘Or at least, not yet.’
‘This journalist said they intend to,’ Kirsty pointed out. ‘A well-timed intervention from an expensive lawyer might make them think twice.’
Maura gnawed at her lip. ‘I don’t know if Fraser has an expensive lawyer.’
