by Kate Field
‘He could be the Lord High Duke of Lancashire for all we care. All we wanted was someone who understood Alice and would have a bit of respect for her book.’
‘We do.’
Mrs Archer drove forwards and gestured at the newspaper cutting.
‘Sexed up!’ she grumbled. ‘Bodice ripper!’
Her outraged expression probably matched my own when I’d first read the article.
‘Don’t take any notice of that. It’s journalistic nonsense. Leo wouldn’t have used the term bodice ripper. It derives from America in the 1970s and …’ I stopped. Neither Archer appeared interested in the etymology of the phrase, though I could have talked about it at length.
‘It’s not what Alice would have wanted. She didn’t trust her book with our Florrie for this to happen. That book was special. Personal.’ Bridie glanced at her mother, who twitched her head in what looked like a warning. ‘Anyhow, we’ve been on the Google internet and there’s a chap who’s an expert on the Brontës and that sort of time period. He could do it. He’s at Oxford.’
‘So was Leo.’ And as he’d proved, it was no guarantee against idiocy. A horrible suspicion occurred to me. ‘It’s not Lucas Flynn, is it?’
‘Professor Flynn,’ Bridie corrected. Touché. ‘Have you heard of him?’
Heard of him? More than I could ever have wanted. He was one of the leading experts in all things Brontë, and so as far as Leo was concerned, Flynn was his arch-enemy in the literary world. They had an annual spat over something or other. If Leo knew that Flynn might be the one to edit and publish Alice’s manuscript … I couldn’t let it happen. And I heard Ethan’s voice, loud and clear over my shoulder, giving me a tender prod.
‘Let me work on the book,’ I said. ‘I had nothing to do with this article. I was as shocked as you when I saw it.’
‘Then why did you let him see the book?’ Bridie asked.
‘Because I thought he would view it the same way I did. We’ve been a close team until now. And I really think he became over-excited and the journalist put her own spin on it.’ The Archers were frowning again. I was losing them. I had no choice: either I threw Leo overboard or we both sank. ‘But you’re right. This isn’t the way the book should be treated at all. Yes, it’s a passionate story, and bold for its time, but romance is at the heart of it. Alice has written the most extraordinary story about the power of love, and how much you would be prepared to give up for it.’
The frowns had gone, and Bridie exchanged a glance with her mother.
‘So you would be willing to do it without him?’ Bridie flicked the newspaper.
‘Leo may need to be involved in authenticating it, but apart from that, yes. I’d be willing to edit the manuscript and get it ready for publication – assuming I can find a publisher who would take me on.’
I could see from their faces that they weren’t persuaded.
‘Forget that,’ I said. ‘I’m not willing to do it. I would love to work on this manuscript. It’s the most beautiful, magical, moving story I’ve read for years. The public need to read this book and understand what an amazing writer Alice is: how she can catch you up from the first page and not stop squeezing your emotions until long after you’ve finished the last one. I want to be the person who launches this book. I want to do it for Alice.’
The words flowed out without me even thinking of them. I needed the Archers to see how committed I was, and that my enthusiasm was genuine, and heartfelt. I looked from Bridie to Mrs Archer: they weren’t smiling, but their expressions had softened considerably since I walked in. I was close to persuading them; and now my flickering guilt over ditching Leo was replaced by naked determination. I had to persuade them. I couldn’t bear anyone else to touch Alice’s words but me.
‘You might want to do it,’ Bridie said, ‘but how do we know you’re the right person for the job?’
‘Because I understand Alice. I know her books and her diary and her letters inside out, and I know what she would have done with this book if she’d tried to publish it in her lifetime.’ Bridie gave a slight shrug, as if to point out that anyone could know all that. I needed more – and the words came again, my heart taking control of my tongue. ‘And because I understand this book more than anyone else can. I know what it’s like to love someone you shouldn’t … when it seems wrong and impossible and hopeless … because that’s the situation I’m in.’
I sat down on the edge of the desk. What had I said? My heart answered again: nothing but the truth. Of course I loved Ethan. I always had, on some level – a level I had done my best to ignore. But it had deepened over the last few months, since his return to Lancashire – since I had been reminded how well we connected, how he made me laugh, how life sparkled when he was around. It wasn’t simply attraction, as I’d tried to tell myself; not just the embarrassing lust of a recently divorced woman. It was way beyond that. I’d told Ethan that I was ready to fall in love, but I had never imagined that he would be the man I fell in love with. And there lay a problem: because my head still told me this was wrong, a risk I couldn’t and shouldn’t take. Lust would have faded, or been replaced; but not love. How was I supposed to live with this?
Mrs Archer manoeuvred around the desk and pulled up in front of me. To my surprise, she reached out from her blankets and put a bony hand on mine.
‘The man who carried me,’ she said. My face must have mirrored my confusion. ‘At the Hornby day,’ she added.
‘Ethan.’ I nodded. I’d forgotten that. It had stuck in Mrs Archer’s memory, judging by the twinkle in her eye, and no wonder. I couldn’t forget my time in his arms either, despite my best endeavours. ‘My husband’s brother.’
‘Ex-husband, isn’t it?’ Bridie asked. I nodded, hoping that she would say that made a difference – made it perfectly acceptable, not weird at all – but she said nothing. Then she looked at her mother. ‘Tea, Mum? And shall we have some of this parkin?’
‘Just a bite.’ Mrs Archer drove towards the door to the living area. She turned back and stared at me. ‘Come on.’
‘Does this mean …’ I hopped off the desk. Was I forgiven? Were they going to trust me with Alice’s manuscript after all?
Mrs Archer sniffed.
‘I’ll think on it.’
Ethan was frustratingly true to his word, and didn’t call round to see me. He came close one day: I saw him vault over the hedge from Audrey’s, making my heart soar with him, but Mum arrived home and interrupted whatever he planned to do. Another morning I opened the front door and found a hedgerow bouquet – creeping thistle and chickweed bound up with a piece of string – lying on the doorstep. A slip of paper tucked under the string read simply, ‘For Mary x’, in writing that I knew well. I smuggled it up to my bedroom, and arranged the flowers in a jug beside my bed, so they were my first and last sight of the day.
I couldn’t go on pretending. What I’d said to the Archers hadn’t been a sales pitch, any old flannel that I’d tossed out in the hope of persuading them to let me work on Alice’s book. And now I’d acknowledged the truth, it had spread and grown so quickly that I couldn’t fit it back inside its box. I longed to be with Ethan. Countless times I picked up my keys, determined to go to Waterman’s Cottage and … what? Tell him that I loved him? And my mind would play out the next few hours, the kisses, the laughter, the delirium, the blissful hours we might spend in that bed, with the clouds racing above our heads …
But my imagination stopped short within hours. I couldn’t see what would happen beyond that. There was a gaping hole where the future should be, and it terrified me. I believed that Ethan thought he loved me now, but I’d seen it too many times before to be confident that it would last. Too many girls at school had cried in my ear, hoping that I would convince him to give them another chance. I’d watched him bring home a different girl almost every university holiday. And then there were his two brief marriages and the countless relationships Leo had told me about in-between … Ethan wasn’t cut out t
o be loyal; and I wasn’t cut out to risk being left again.
I did my best, but my distraction leaked out over other areas of my life. Leo, infuriatingly chipper after his honeymoon, pointed out two references I’d missed in an article I’d written for him. The Tippetts complained that my carrots were too crunchy for their teeth and the chicken was like eating sandpaper. Jonas spent most of his time in his room. Only Ava appeared happy, mainly because I was too caught up with my own life to notice what was going on in hers. Our relationship had rarely been sweeter.
‘Goodness, I think Mary must be away with the fairies!’ Marissa’s laugh cut into my thoughts, and I was dragged back to the dreary staff room and the PTA meeting. I ought to be concentrating: this meeting was about the annual bonfire and fireworks display, an event I always arranged, but at the first hint of toffee apples and wood smoke my memories had whisked me away. My cheeks felt as hot as if there was a real bonfire in the room.
‘You will be here, won’t you?’ Marissa asked. I tensed, sensing trouble in her voice and smile.
‘Of course.’ I’d run the event for the last eight years. It was my moment, and one of the biggest fundraisers of the year. There was no way I would miss it.
‘Only I heard that you may be jetting off to New York soon.’ Marissa’s smile glittered. I grabbed the chipped ‘World’s Best Teacher!’ mug I’d been given and sipped the cold dregs of tea, trying to stop my heart battering against my chest. She had to be talking about Ethan … but how did she know anything about him? How had a rumour spread already? My gaze flicked to Daisy, but it was unworthy of me: Daisy appeared as startled as I was.
‘It’s typical of you to be so efficient in your choice, Mary,’ Marissa continued, ‘so you won’t have to go through the rigmarole of changing your name on documents.’ She laughed. ‘Is this it now? There’s not a third brother waiting in the wings for when you grow tired of this one?’
‘Don’t be such a bitch.’ Daisy jumped to my defence, waking up some of the quieter members of the PTA. ‘Mary’s not like that.’
‘Oh, I don’t blame her,’ Marissa said. ‘We’d all like a younger man if we could get one.’
‘He’s older than me!’
Too late I realised what a rookie mistake I’d made. Marissa couldn’t have looked more delighted if I’d whipped out a one-way ticket to New York and waved it around the room with an exuberant ‘ta-da!’ It was all Ethan’s fault: Leo had never taken over my head and driven away all sense like this.
I tried to sneak away after the meeting, but Daisy was as nimble as a fox when she wanted to be, and caught up with me as I strode along the corridor to the exit.
‘Are you okay, Mary?’ she asked – which I interpreted as a polite version of, ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Great.’
Daisy abandoned the indirect approach.
‘You’re not going to New York, are you? With Ethan?’
‘Of course not!’ I stopped at the head of the grand flight of stairs that led down to the ground floor. The school had been built as a magnificent country house, and it was impossible not to imagine all the elegantly gowned ladies who had once descended these stairs, ready to float around the ballroom and fall in love. When the school was empty, like this, the ghosts of hopes and dreams shimmered in the air. Mine too.
‘What would you think if I did?’ I couldn’t resist asking. ‘Not go to New York. I mean if I did do – anything – with Ethan?’
‘By anything, are you including …’ Daisy tipped her head to one side a couple of times. I nodded. ‘Blimey.’
‘What?’ I started down the stairs as some of the other parents headed our way. ‘You think it’s too weird, don’t you?’
‘Well, yes. But that’s because when I divorced James, one of the advantages was losing the mother-in-law. I would never have wanted her in that role again. And frankly, James’ brother has the looks and the manners of an enraged bull, and I would rather lock myself in a suit of armour than risk him touching any part of me. Ethan’s different.’
‘I know.’
Daisy shot me a curious look, and when we reached the bottom of the stairs, she grabbed my arm and steered me into the nearest classroom.
‘Are you serious?’ she asked, studying my face. ‘Has anything already happened?’
‘No.’ I wilted under her searchlight gaze. ‘Not much more than kissing.’
‘And did it feel weird?’
‘Not at the time. Afterwards … yes. He’s Leo’s brother!’
‘But they’re not twins, are they? You wouldn’t even know they were related by looking at them or talking to them.’
That was true. I knew in my own mind that my attraction to Ethan wasn’t a pathetic attempt to cling on to a part of Leo. But would other people see that?
‘Be honest, Daisy. If I were in a relationship with Ethan, what would you think?’
‘That you were very lucky?’ She smiled. ‘Don’t tell Owen I said that.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘If it made you happy, I’d be thrilled for you.’
A little bud of hope unfurled in my chest. Was it possible? Could this work?
‘But it wouldn’t be easy,’ Daisy continued, and that little bud shrivelled. ‘There are some people in Stoneybrook who are only too ready to be scandalised. There’s bound to be gossip. And if you’re seriously thinking of doing this, you have to be sure that it’s for keeps. This is going to turn your family upside down. You can’t do that for a fling.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘Only you can decide whether he’s worth it.’
It had taken a while, but the owner of the bookshop in Bickton, who I had met after Leo’s and Clark’s dinner party, had finally agreed to stock the Alice Hornby biography, and invited Leo over for a signing. It was a joint event, and he shared the floor with a local historian and a debut novelist of historical romance set in Victorian times. Despite his initial reservations, it had been well attended, the books had sold, and I had even signed up two new members to the Alice Hornby Society.
The only downside to the morning had been Leo’s insistence on mentioning the new manuscript, an unauthorised addition to the short speech I’d prepared for him. I hadn’t had chance to tell him about my latest visit to the Archer’s bookshop: it wasn’t something I could raise over the phone, and Leo had all but given up coming home to work in our shared office. I still didn’t know whether the Archers would let me be involved with publishing the book, but as either way they had ruled Leo out, I couldn’t put off telling him any longer.
We’d both parked our cars beside the town park, and as it was a dry but breezy day, I suggested we could take a walk through the park before going home.
‘A walk?’ Leo checked his watch. ‘I’m not sure …’
‘It’s important.’
We wandered into the park, and Leo bought us coffee from a vending cart.
‘I suppose they must have told you,’ he said, as we followed the path to the left, in the opposite direction to the playground. ‘Good. I believe they hoped I’d do it for them.’
‘Told me what?’
‘Jonas and Ava have asked to stay over the Christmas holidays.’ Leo looked at me and sighed. ‘They hadn’t mentioned it, had they?’
‘No.’ I gulped my coffee, feeling the scalding progress of the liquid down my throat.
‘Jonas is hoping to work in the café again.’
‘And Ava?’
‘Yes. She first raised it in St Ives, but I expected the idea to wane once she was home.’
Knowing Ava, the idea had probably blossomed when she came home and had to endure my company again. What had I ever done to these children to make them want to abandon me at the first opportunity? And at Christmas too …
‘What about Christmas Day?’ I stopped in the middle of the path, and a wiry Jack Russell terrier collided with my legs. ‘Are they spending that with you too?’
‘No, they can’t. Clark and I have booked a restaurant with friends.’
So much f
or my vague imaginings that we might have a joint Christmas like last year.
‘What will Audrey do?’
Leo gave me the patient frown he always used when one of us had said something dim.
‘She’ll join you as normal, won’t she?’
Of course she would, if she wanted to. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Audrey, and her silly hats, and hoots of laughter at the most appalling cracker jokes. But how could Leo describe it as normal? How easily he had moved on from his last Christmas as a married man to his first. And how differently he was behaving the second time around, putting time alone with Clark before family. Perhaps we should have done that when we married – insisted on carving out our space as a married couple, instead of going on as if things had hardly changed, save for a shuffle in who lived where. Would it have made a difference if we had moved away, taken time to become ourselves and experience life on our own? But we would never have had that time. Jonas was born within a year of our marriage, earlier than I had planned, but Leo had been desperate to start a family. I had adored him for understanding how much I needed a family of my own.
A skateboarder whizzed past, and I had to step out of his way, almost tripping over Leo’s foot. He steadied me and smiled, the reassuring smile that I had relied on for so long.
‘What did you want to talk about, Mary, if not the children?’
‘Alice Hornby’s manuscript.’
Leo’s smile brightened. I could hardly bear to look at him. I had no idea how he would react to the news. I wanted to believe that he would understand, and support me, but Ethan had sewn doubts in my head that I couldn’t entirely shake out.
‘Can we proceed?’ he asked. ‘My agent has already sounded out three or four publishers who are interested. We may even have a bidding war!’
‘The Archers haven’t decided yet.’
‘Would it help if I met them again? I’m sure you will have tried your utmost, but perhaps they need to hear from me.’
‘That won’t help.’ There was no easy way to say this, so I blurted it out. ‘They don’t want you to be involved.’
