Lesley Scott was annoyed and her husband knew why. Since the death of his son it seemed that Sharon was making any excuse she could to keep away from them and keep the boys away from them too. Sharon was a shadow of her former self, even though she had never looked lovelier. He was a man and she was a good-looking woman – not that he would ever say that to his wife, of course. Sharon should be like a daughter to him, but that did not mean he did not see her obvious charms. She was a woman who needed a man. He suspected all had not been quite right between Sharon and Lenny before his son’s death, but every time he had tried to ask her if things were OK, she had smiled and briskly changed the subject. He could only assume his Lenny had had a bird of some description. He was a realist. Lenny, God love him, would not have been the first and he would not be the last. But his death had obviously marked Sharon in some way.

Sharon had carried on with the betting shop and the loans and she had done a good job – Jack Johnson had made sure of that. He’d seen off all threats and had given her the best help available; that was a testament to Big Lenny’s son’s memory as far as he was concerned. He knew that Jack paid the lion’s share of their wages and that he kept a close eye on Sharon and the boys. But she had changed so much.

He sighed as he listened to his wife argue how their daughter-in-law seemed determined to shut them out. There was more to this than met the eye; he’d lay money on it.

He wondered if he should mention to his wife that her overbearing nature could be part of Sharon’s irritation. But she would de-ball him in nanoseconds if he dared to criticise her. Lesley Scott thought that only three opinions were valid: God’s, the Pope’s and hers. Obviously hers was the most important. Since they buried Lenny she had turned into a religious maniac. She took Communion every morning at six o’clock Mass. The priest bore the brunt of her grief and Big Lenny was relieved about that. He missed their boy as much as she did but, unlike her, he didn’t feel the need to harass the priest about it.

He certainly couldn’t tell her that his dead son’s wife was becoming more and more appealing to him by the day. That he thought of her constantly. That he wanted her desperately. No, he was best keeping his own counsel about that. Sharon was like a drug to him. He knew it was wrong and yet he still wanted her.

Chapter Eighty-Six