Intrusion: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Maggie. Though her sister was still smiling, and her voice controlled and pleasant, Kat recognized her look. Maggie was alert, wary, clear dislike in her eyes. “Doesn’t seem like twenty years, does it, since you turned up on our doorstep that night?”
    Kat, aware of Scott at her side, interrupted quickly.
    “Sarah, do meet my husband. This is Scott.”
    “Scott Hamilton,” he said, reaching to shake Sarah’s hand. “One of the partners involved in the project.”
    “Really?” Sarah said, appraising him. “Delighted to meet you.”
    “And this is James Dempsey, my associate.”
    James shot forward, holding out his hand.
    “Pleasure, ma’am.”
    “Oh, don’t call me ma’am. It’s Sarah. Please.”
    Sarah shook his hand, but her attention moved immediately back to Kat, and very lightly she tugged at Kat’s arm to move her away from the group.
    “If you will excuse us? We haven’t seen each other in such an age,” Sarah said.
    “Of course,” said Scott.
    Kat allowed herself to be led away, risking a quick glance at Maggie. Her sister watched Sarah as one would a snake or a rabid dog.
    “We must talk,” said Sarah, squeezing Kat’s arm. “It’s been too long.”
    Sarah led Kat into the corridor. They were outside a conference room, in an open hallway lit with crystal wall lights and furnished with long linen sofas. She sat down on one of them, pulling Kat down beside her.
    “So? Tell me everything,” she said. “How are you?”
    Kat returned her look, noting now in the cooler, brighter light, the small age lines, a weariness in the eyes not apparent before.
    “Oh, fine. It’s just—” Kat paused, not wanting to go on.
    “It’s just? It’s just what? I knew there was something wrong. Knew the moment I saw you. That lost look. Tell me. What’s happened to you, Kat?”
    “It’s—our son died,” Kat said. “In an accident.”
    “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
    “I really can’t talk about this now, Sarah.”
    Sarah moved to touch her hand.
    “Of course not. Not here. You must tell me later. When we have time. When we’re alone.”
    “Yes. You’ve had a difficult time also? Scott said you lost your husband,” Kat said.
    “I did. But I was prepared. He was ill for some time.”
    “But that’s hard, too. A long illness.”
    “Yes. Those last few months—” Sarah shivered. “He was at home, you see. I had help, of course. And a delightful doctor who came every day. But my nursing skills? Well, you can imagine. But please. Go on. Tell me other things. You’re still a journalist?”
    “Not anymore,” Kat said. “I work in a PR agency now. Press releases, brochures. Not the kind of writing I used to do.”
    “Then why do it? You were so talented. And such big dreams.”
    “The hours are regular. Nine to five. Better than newspapers. When Chris came along, I wanted something less demanding,” Kat said. “And you? What about you?”
    “My dreams were rather different from yours, remember? White weddings. Children. No. Not for me. I was tired of being poor. I wanted to change that. And I have.”
    Sarah gave a small smile and looked down, twisting the cabochon emerald ring off her finger, then holding it for a few seconds, as if checking its weight, before replacing it.
    Kat remembered clearly then, the day before her sixteenth birthday on the cliff edge near Brighton. A gusty, gray day; the Channel had been choppy, a few boats making their rolling way to the Brighton Marina. They had been staying with Sarah’s aunt Helen, at Lansdowne, her huge mansion near the Sussex coast, and the young Sarah wore her weekend outfit: old blue jeans; a thick, black knee-length sweater with holes in the sleeves. She had been pulling at the grass, and whispered in a small, harsh voice.
    “I wanted to buy you that pearl ring we saw in the Lanes for your birthday. But I didn’t have enough allowance left. I hate this. Not having enough money. Hate it.”
    Only Kat, of all Sarah’s teenage