“You’re married, then.” She snorted. “Didn’t see that coming.”
Gemma walked over to the sink, keen to occupy herself with something useful. “You’re safe, Emily. Nobody here is going to hurt you. You should come with me, back to my house. Have a nice bath and something to eat—”
“I can’t.” She shook her head.
“Why can’t you leave?” Gemma turned the tap on to fill a glass of water.
“My photos. I can’t leave without my photos.” Taking the glass from her, Emily placed it on the table without drinking.
Gemma drew a seat opposite and perched on the edge. She spoke quietly. “You were locked in the cellar, Emily. You’re free—”
Emily interrupted for a second time. “To keep me safe. I have a key.” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a key.
Gemma stiffened. What the hell was going on? “Safe from what?”
“You—in case you got nasty and didn’t do as Delia asked.” A small flush of pink crept over Emily’s face. She twirled a finger in circles across the table. Not once had she looked directly at Gemma.
“Me? Nasty?” The idea shocked her. “I came to take you away, somewhere safe and protected. Are you telling me you are involved in this blackmail business?” Gemma glanced over to unfazed Gibson, who merely shrugged her shoulders.
Emily frowned, hunching her shoulders further down. “No, no. Not like…you wouldn’t understand.”
Gemma ran her fingers through her hair, perturbed by Emily’s reticence to explain her circumstances. “So, where are the photographs? The kinky ones of me?”
“I don’t know. I mean, the originals. Delia scanned them and printed off the digital copies. The originals, she hid somewhere, with others like them.”
Gemma heard footsteps behind her and turned. Jason had appeared. He leaned against the doorframe and scowled. “Has she said anything about the photographs? This is taking too long.”
“She says she doesn’t know where they are,” answered Gibson.
He snapped his fingers. “Okay, get her out of here. Take her, as we arranged.”
“No!” implored Emily raising her voice. She scraped back her chair and, for the first time, Emily looked at Gemma, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “No, you can’t make me leave, not without my photos.”
“What photos?” asked Gemma, learning forward.
“They’re everything to me, my life’s work as a photographer, my current assignments. You paint. I remember you said you painted. Could you abandon everything you ever did? She keeps the others hidden. I don’t know where. I had to go through them, give her names, who I knew, where....” Emily’s face crumpled at her culpability.
“Is that the only reason you don’t want to leave? Rothesay doesn’t have a hold over you?” asked Jason.
“Hold over me? Of course she has a hold over me. I love her.”
The statement devastated Gemma. She slumped in her seat. All of the emotions of fear she’d layered over Emily were dashed away. Instead, something much simpler had captured Emily. “You willingly took part in this, in blackmailing people?”
“No, not…. Please, it’s not like that.” Emily hid her face in her trembling hands.
“Out of here.” Jason jabbed the air over his shoulder with his thumb. “And take my wife home, too.” He left the room.
Gibson pulled Emily to her feet, none too gently. The action triggered a state of panic in Emily. She elbowed Gibson back. “No! I can’t go without them! Please…. Gemma, please don’t make me.”
Gemma took once last shot at reaching out to Emily. “My husband is a good man, a very good man. A powerful person, Emily. He squashes people like Rothesay under his feet. After today, if you don’t want to, you’ll never see Rothesay again.”
Emily shook off Gibson’s grip and reached out to touch Gemma’s arm. “Just let me take the pictures,” she sniffed.
Gemma wrinkled her nose. Emily smelt of the damp cellar, a musty odour, and of cheap perfumes, too.
Emily started to snivel, leaking tears. “My photos, they’re not just prints. Most are stored digitally on my computer. Disks, etc.” The lanky figure of Emily shrank. Gemma didn’t understand what had been going on in the house, but Emily deserved some kind of sympathy. She gave Gibson a look of expectation.
“Oh, come on, then. Don’t worry,” soothed Gibson, patting Emily’s arm. “We’ll sort it for you, okay? Your cameras, too. But then you must leave.”