Ice Blue by Emma Jameson Read Free Book Online

this fiancée of Jules’s, for example, was an ex-boyfriend of
mine, I don’t think you’d let me escape with a blanket statement
that our liaison is over, thank you, and no further questions are
allowed.”
    Hetheridge shot a glance at Kate, startled by
her candor, which hovered just below outright insubordination. He
had experience dealing with insubordination. This was also the
truth, and its simple clarity had thrown him. Now he was the one
off-balance.
    “Very well. I was once engaged to Madge
Sowerby, as she was called then. More than twenty years ago, I
might add, so the jury is out as to whether or not you were even
alive at the time. The engagement ended, the friendship cooled, and
we went our separate ways.”
    Kate turned toward him, unabashed interest in
her face. “Who broke the engagement?”
    Hetheridge was so surprised by her audacity,
he actually grinned. “Before I answer that, Sergeant, I look
forward to hearing how such a detail could be relevant to Malcolm
Comfrey’s murder.”
    “It isn’t,” she grinned back, delighted. “I
just want to know.”
    Hetheridge, at a loss, faltered in his route,
nearly missing the turn to cross the river. He was pleased by her
personal interest in him. Pleased, embarrassed by that pleasure,
and strangely willing to endure the embarrassment if he could
extend the pleasure a little longer.
    Correcting his route and narrowly
accomplishing the turn, he replied, “I was the one to break it off.
She didn’t forgive me, which is probably to be expected.”
    “Why did you end it?”
    “I realized I didn’t want to be married,”
Hetheridge replied with utter honesty. “Especially to her.”
    “Did you tell her that?”
    “Good God, no. I told her I wasn’t good
enough. That she deserved a man who wasn’t already married to his
work.” Even by the dashboard’s subdued glow, Hetheridge could see
Kate was waiting for more. “I have managed to associate with a few
other women over the years. Would you like me to list them
alphabetically, or in order of importance?”
    She chuckled. Hetheridge, prompted by his
rising embarrassment to change the subject, impulsively posed a
question he’d thus far denied himself permission to ask. “So who
are you going home to? A boyfriend? A fiancée?”
    “A brother,” Kate said. Her voice held a note
of finality, as if the subject was off-limits. Hetheridge had heard
this about her – heard she guarded the details of her life outside
the Yard like a dragon – and was prepared to let the question drop.
Although he pried for a living, collecting secrets and violating
privacy to a degree the typical village busybody could only
fantasize about, Hetheridge was always correct in personal
interactions. He loathed the idea of forcing a confidence.
    “A brother who gets very worried when I don’t
check in on him,” Kate continued, giving Hetheridge a new sort of
smile – a vulnerable smile, hinting of trust. “He’s developmentally
delayed, as we say now. Mentally retarded. Ritchie has a live-in
carer, but he still needs me. If I went off in the middle of the
night and didn’t come back for a day or two, he’d go to pieces. I
also have a nephew, Henry. He’s one sharp little guy,” she said
with pride. “He’s eight, but most of the time he behaves like an
older brother to Ritchie. If I just make Henry’s breakfast and give
him a kiss goodbye, he understands completely. Henry was only
supposed to stay with me for a month, but somehow the arrangement
turned permanent.” She stopped. Taking a deep breath, she put on a
broad, false smile. “Let me guess. More than you wanted to
know?”
    “More than I expected you to tell,”
Hetheridge said. “Quite the family life.”
    “Quite the buggery bollocks of a family
life,” she snorted, the false smile disappearing. “Sometimes I hate
being home and I love the Yard to an obscene degree, to a
gibbering, drooling, insane degree. When I get that way, I feel my
work is my