The Betrayal by Laura Elliot Read Free Book Online

development. He was walking towards his music room when he noticed a light under the door of Nadine’s home office. He had hesitated outside. He should go in and say goodnight, face her accusatory gaze, her acerbic comments. But the composition was inside his head, guitars strumming, drums drumming, a keyboard adding depth to the arrangement. He needed to pin it down before it evaporated under the harsh reality of talking about Tõnality, which was all he and Nadine ever did these days.
    His phone bleeped when he was in his music room. A text from Karin with an attached photo. She was on a film set, sitting on the steps of a trailer while people in Regency costumes walked past her. Busy day on the set, she texted. How did band practice go?
    He heard a door slam, Nadine’s footsteps on the stairs. He should have mentioned Karin as soon as he returned from New York. It would have been so easy when she picked him up at the airport. Guess who I met on the flight… an old friend… Karin Moylan sends her best. But he said nothing and now it was impossible to drop her name casually into their conversation. She was his secret and her importance was growing in proportion to the clandestine nature of their texts.
    Her texts came every day, usually accompanied by whimsical photographs of New York, an opera she had attended, a flash concert in a shopping centre, skyscrapers lit at night on Fifth Avenue, an image of her jogging in Central Park, her skin glowing, her nipples straining against her sweat top. She never mentioned Nadine, nor did he. But what pithy, witty response could he text in return? Cash flow problems and an irate bank manager? The kiss of death, Jake reckoned. His own responses were equally bland and light-hearted.
    New York was his coded word for her.
    Is New York awake yet?
    What’s happening in New York right now?
    Raining here, pining for some New York sunshine.
    Wish I was in New York and could stay there forever.
    He had deleted that last text, its double entendre too blatant for anyone’s eyes but his own. She had become his buffer zone, his cloud nine, his fantasy against his daily grind of cancelled orders and lies about the cheque being in the post. He should buy a new phone with a secret number. The thought that he was becoming a cliché appalled him. Nadine would never check his phone and what harm if she did? The texts were harmless, mildly flirtatious and, like Shard, a welcome distraction from running his troubled company.
    Nadine was in bed and awake when he lay down beside her. She was still annoyed with him. He could tell by her eyes. The chill factor.
    ‘Sorry I was so late getting back from band practice,’ he said.
    ‘I thought you might come into the office and acknowledge my existence.’
    ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
    ‘Of course you didn’t.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Analyse the meaning yourself.’ She turned away from him and pressed her face into the pillow. ‘It’s late and I’m tired. Goodnight.’

Chapter 7
    Nadine
    S mart Art’s is crowded tonight but Art has kept our usual table for us. Friday night is our wind down time, pizzas and beer on our way home from work. We made a rule when we started this weekly ritual that we would not discuss Tõnality. We keep to this decision, even though it’s uppermost in our minds. We talk about the children, although we both agree we must stop calling them ‘children.’ They’re adults, eligible to vote, eligible to marry, eligible to die for their country, if called upon to do so. But what do we call them instead? We give up on that one and talk about Ali’s disappointment when she didn’t receive a phone call after her last audition. I read out a text from Samantha informing us that Sam had beaten his personal best and we discuss Brian’s new pottery collection. It’s noisier than usual in the pizzeria. I ask Jake if we can break the taboo and discuss Tõnality. He sighs, shrugs.
    ‘If you