by Cathryn Hein
‘Ah,’ said Granny B, clever eyes twinkling as she raised a pair of finely plucked eyebrows at her granddaughter, above whose head was written the name of former UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. ‘Emily?’
Em tapped her chin. ‘Am I female?’
‘You are,’ replied Jas.
‘Am I …’ Em narrowed her eyes at Jas, as if her face might reveal a hint. The two had been friends for so long Jas sometimes believed they could read each other’s thoughts, but not today. Jas had taken care with her Celebrity Head choices, deliberately selecting people and characters who were either a bit ‘out there’ or chosen for pure amusement value. ‘Am I in the entertainment industry?’
‘Definitely not,’ snapped Granny B. ‘Although I imagine there were many who would have found throwing you to the lions highly entertaining indeed.’
Jas speared Granny B with a watch-it look. She was the moderator here and more than once the mischievous old lady had derailed the competition with her interruptions and asides. Others might be scared of her bite, but Jas had known Granny B long enough to know she much preferred people who stood up to her.
‘No, Em, you’re not. Granny B?’
She took her time, lifting her champagne flute and taking a sip, every action elegant and proud. While almost everyone had turned up in a summery frock, Granny B was wearing an exquisitely tailored pair of silver sateen trousers matched with a white silk wrap shirt. Her pearl-white hair was set in 30s style crimps, and diamonds the size of fresh peas sparkled in her ears.
‘Am I on …’ she made a slight moue, ‘… television?’
‘You are.’
‘How ghastly.’
Em rolled her eyes. Adrienne shook her head. A few titters flew from the others. Granny B tossed a subtle wink at Jas who had to look at her notes to stop from laughing herself.
Granny B considered. ‘Am I fictional?’
‘Yes.’
Jas could almost visualise the clues whizzing through Granny B’s brain. Which was incredible, given the champagne she’d consumed, but like all the Wallace women Granny B knew her limits when it came to alcohol. It was part of her cunning. Many a person had been made foolish by underestimating Audrey Wallace’s capacity for drink, and her intelligence.
‘Am I a cartoon?’
‘Yes.’
Nearing triumph, Granny B sat forward. She scanned Jasmine’s face as if, like Em, she thought the answer was to be found there. ‘Am I Betty Boop?’
The image was too delicious. Laughter erupted. Betty Boop was all big eyes, womanly curves and childlike manner, whereas Granny B was model thin and far too queenly to be ever considered childlike.
‘No,’ said Jas, controlling her own giggles. ‘You’re not Betty Boop.’
Granny B sniffed. ‘I’ll have you know I would have made quite a flapper.’
‘I’m sure you would have.’ Jas turned to Em, willing her to ask the right question. Granny B had honed her clues much too fast and now appeared poised to take the crown. Em was the bride-to-be. She should win. ‘Em?’
‘Am I sporty?’
‘No.’ Jas raised her eyebrows at Granny B, indicating the ball was in her court.
‘If I’m not Betty Boop I suppose I must be Mickey Mouse.’
‘Brrrrp,’ said Jas, imitating a buzzer.
‘Really. This game is rigged.’
‘Gran!’
Granny B merely harrumphed and took a swig of Krug, before peering over her shoulder at the unmistakable crunch of cars pulling in to Camrick’s gravel drive. Male laughter was soon punctuated by doors slamming and footsteps. The boys had arrived.
Josh was the first to saunter into view, handsome in a pair of jeans and casual shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a grin that wrapped them all in warmth. Tall like his wife to be, he was also broad and muscular with eyes the colour of treacle. He leaned down to kiss Em hello, then eased back to study the card above her head.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Although probably more suited to your grandmother.’
‘You smell like beer,’ Em said without rancour.
‘I know. Sexy, huh?’
Josh leaned close to whisper in her ear. A flush spread over her cheeks and her eyes darted as though worried everyone could hear what he said. They didn’t need to—the effect his words had on Em revealed enough.
Guests swapped indulgent smiles. This was a couple deeply in love, bathed in sunshine and happiness and the promise of a future that could surely only be perfect because of that love.
For a moment, Jas experienced an intense pang of envy, followed by a surge of fury. All that time wasted on Mike. All that emotion. And for what? A bunch of lies. She should have had what Em had. Proper love. Passion. Friendship.
The fury died as fast as it had surged. Mike was a mistake of the past, a snakeskin she would slough off over time until her new skin emerged, clean and gleaming under the brightness of her future.
Her focus drifted. Digby was lingering at the back of the group of men, slightly apart, almost as if he felt he didn’t belong, when the truth was the mansion and its surrounds were his property, inherited from his uncle James. Adrienne and Em had scored cash, shares and trust income, Digby land and the majority of the family’s agroforestry holdings. If he wanted he could have had them all tossed out without notice—bar Granny B, who had lifetime tenancy.
He wasn’t looking at his sister and Josh, or his family, or any of the party, but at his apartment above the stables. Jas couldn’t tell if it was with longing to escape there or if it was with hope that, by some miracle, he might find Felicity at one of the windows, welcoming him home.
Sympathy gripped her heart. She willed Digby to look her way but he was already turning aside to face the street. For a moment he remained hunched in on himself. Worried, Jas began to rise out of her chair but his head lifted and he gathered himself. When he turned around his expression was set with stoic resignation. There was no escape from this. All he could do was endure.
His gaze finally caught Jasmine’s. He shrugged, his mouth twisted into a smile that was more a mask for how hard Digby was finding wedding preparations. The poor man had to be torn between wanting the best for Josh and his sister, and the resentment that clung from Em’s part in Felicity’s accident. Jas smiled back, hoping it conveyed her understanding and the promise of her support.
Finished tormenting his fiancée with whatever tease he’d conjured up, Josh planted a kiss on the tip of her nose, winked at Jas, waved to his mum and sisters then turned to Granny B, his grin breaking wide as he read the sign above her head. ‘I hope you’re playing fair.’
‘Of course not, Joshua,’ replied Granny B, not remotely fazed by the insinuation. Like all the Wallaces, she adored her granddaughter’s fiancé. ‘That would be no fun at all.’
‘Just as well. Anything different and I’d wonder what you were up to.’
‘Do you mind?’ asked Jas, as one of Josh’s mates rummaged through an ice tub and plucked up a bottle of Krug. She might not have paid for it but wasting champagne of that quality on a bunch of blokes who’d spent most of the afternoon in a pub was too horrible to contemplate. ‘You’re interrupting the final.’
Josh held up his palms and backed off. He glanced at Digby for guidance but it was Samuel who indicated the house.
‘Let’s leave the ladies to it. Plenty of beers inside.’
Though the men departed quickly enough, the mood had changed. Celebrity Head had lost its sting. After several more questions, Em took out the prize but only, Jas suspected, because Granny B let her. The sly old lady had managed to cover an entire pantheon of cartoon characters without getting close to Daffy Duck, each wrong guess given with a deliberate air of innocence that didn’t fool Jas.
‘You tanked it,’ she accused when the game was over and everyone was back to chatting. Adrienne had ducked inside to alert the boys they were now welcome to return.
‘Me?’ Granny B splayed a wrinkled but perfectly manicured h
and over her chest. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You did.’ She kissed Granny B heartily on her powdery cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘You give me too much credit, Jasmine.’ She tilted her head, watching the men as they sauntered out of the house and along the flagstone path. ‘Did I notice a connection between you and Digby earlier?’ Her gaze slid sideways, taking in every nuance of Jasmine’s astonished expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked. You’re well aware of how I look out for this family.’
‘I …’ What to say? She and Digby were friends, but how to explain his visits without them sounding like something else?
‘Oh, do stop acting so gormless. It’s perfectly all right with me if you two have become close. God knows the boy needs someone.’ Suddenly the haughty act collapsed. Sorrow deepened the lines around Granny B’s mouth and softened her eyes. ‘I worry about him, deeply. I fear he’s a very troubled man.’
Discomfort at discussing him had Jas shuffling her feet. What she and Digby had shared was private. Not that he’d told her much, but still. ‘He just needs time.’
‘He’s had time. It’s over year.’
‘And how long did it take you to get over your own husband’s death?’
Granny B kept mute.
‘Exactly,’ said Jas, her point made. ‘Everyone has their own way of dealing with grief. Digby’s just finding his way through his.’ She tempered her tone as Digby appeared at the back door. Granny B was only worried, as everyone was. ‘He’ll be okay.’
All the other men were holding stubbies or cans of something but Digby’s hands remained dug into his pockets. It was strange that Jas had never found Digby’s brand of attractiveness particularly appealing before. He’d always been ridiculously handsome but other than an academic appreciation, the way she’d admire anything beautiful, Jas hadn’t thought much more about it. All the Wallaces were good looking and as her best friend’s brother, a person she’d known from quiet, studious boyhood through hormonal adolescence and beyond, Digby simply didn’t register on her libido’s radar.
Observing him now, framed and shadowed, he seemed a lonely figure, but there was hardness too. Tragedy had brought carved marble sharpness to the planes of his face and his eyes had a steely quality that never existed before Felicity. It made him distant and, Jas realised to her shock, sexy as hell because of it.
Too late, Jas caught the old lady’s scrutiny and knew immediately she’d been sprung. Jas braced herself for a warning off but Granny B merely rummaged in her pocket, plucked out a rose gold lighter and cigar, stuck the latter between her teeth and with a cagey smile of farewell, strode off.
‘The garden looks great,’ said Digby when he wandered over to Jasmine’s side. ‘You and Mum did a fantastic job.’
‘Thanks. So how was today?’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘Up and down. Golf was good, the pub not so much. Bit crowded and loud. Josh enjoyed himself though. Yours?’
‘Busy but worth every effort for the look on Em’s face when she came home and saw what we’d done.’ Jas smiled at the group surrounding Em. Josh had his arm draped across her shoulder and was kissing her temple while his mum and dad beamed with pride at them, and his sisters stood by laughing at whatever joke they’d made, most likely at Josh’s expense. They were a close family. For Em, whose parents’ relationship and divorce had been acrimonious, their deep affection was something she admired.
Digby glanced at his sister and then quickly away, his jaw rigid.
‘Sorry.’
He frowned. ‘What for?’
Jas lowered her voice. ‘I saw the way you were when you arrived home. I know it’s hard, with the wedding and everything.’
‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Jas. I don’t want that.’
She winced. Of course he wouldn’t want that. Who would? ‘Sorry.’
‘You can cut that out too.’ And this time, to Jasmine’s relief, there was amusement in his voice. ‘Wouldn’t catch Lady Christina apologising all the time.’
That made her chuckle. ‘No, you wouldn’t. But I’m not Lady Christina. Unfortunately.’
‘I don’t know. I reckon you’re a bit like her.’
‘Are you serious? How?’
She was intrigued to note he avoided her eye as he answered. ‘She’s tough, I suppose. Resilient, like you are.’
This from a man who had seen her at her bawling, nose-dribbling, hiccupping worst? Jasmine’s astonishment was so great her mouth turned even more goldfish-like than when under Granny B’s scrutiny.
‘Thanks,’ she finally managed. ‘I’m flattered you think so. Amazed, but still flattered.’
‘It’s the truth, even if you can’t see it.’
They were interrupted by Adrienne and Samuel, both pink-faced with tiredness and probably drink, but happy after their successful afternoons. They chatted about their respective days, how much they thought Em and Josh enjoyed their parties, which activities worked best and those they’d wished they done differently. Digby stayed for a few minutes, nodding politely without contributing, before excusing himself and drifting off. All three pairs of eyes observed his progress across the lawn.
‘How was he really?’ Adrienne asked Samuel.
‘Quiet, but Josh made sure to keep him involved.’ He hugged her close. ‘Stop fretting. He’s fine.’
Adrienne set her gaze on Jas. ‘You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you? During the wedding and its lead up? Josh will be busy enough, and Em …’ She didn’t need to clarify the rift between Digby and his sister. ‘He’s bound to find it difficult.’
‘Of course, but I think Digby’s stronger than you give him credit for.’
Adrienne dug her teeth into her lip, brow remaining furrowed. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I am.’ She touched Adrienne’s hand. ‘The wedding will go off without a hitch, Em and Josh will have a perfect day, and Digby will fulfil his duty as best man with pride and dignity. Teagan, Harry and I will make sure of it. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.’
But later that evening, as Jas carried her box of party tricks to her car, she looked up at the stable windows and saw Digby silhouetted against the light. He appeared to be holding something—a thin book or perhaps a photo frame, it was difficult to tell. She stopped and watched, trapped between needing to get home to feed Ox and wanting to go to Digby. To offer him the comfort he’d so generously given her.
Suddenly his head turned. He caught her looking, and for several thumping heartbeats it was as though their feelings were reaching out through the cooling air, lacing together like fingers. Then he withdrew from the window and the connection broke, leaving her alone with her confusion.
Jas had turned along the foreshore road at Port Andrews when her phone rang. Digby’s name flashed, and though Jas loathed people who used their phone while driving she couldn’t stop herself from picking it up.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Hey yourself.’
A short silence followed then, ‘Jas …’
‘You want to come over?’
‘Do you mind?’
‘No. I’d like that.’
He breathed out. ‘Thanks.’
‘Dig?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Bring wine. I’ve had one glass of champagne all day and I deserve a drink.’
She hung up, grinning and filled with a fluttery sense of excitement that she should have admonished herself for but couldn’t. Digby was her best friend’s brother, a man dealing with demons. A man looking only for friendship. He would not be her rebound.
Unless he wanted to be.
CHAPTER
10
Digby wasn’t sure what he was doing was smart, all he knew was that he couldn’t stand another minute in his stifling apartment where the air seemed tainted with the scent of Felicity and every sound had him jerking around, hoping to catch her ghost.
She wasn’t there. She would never be there no matter how much he wished it.
/> He thought he’d coped with the day fairly well. If nothing else, he owed it to Josh. Spoiling his friend’s celebration wasn’t the way to repay him for what Josh had done for Felicity. And himself. But that didn’t make it easy. Digby had done his best though. Joining in where he could, trying not to be the dampener on everyone’s enjoyment.
Digby didn’t begrudge Josh his happiness but witnessing it reminded him how much of his own had been ripped from him. By day’s end his soul felt dredged, scraped free of grace, and he’d had to retreat to the stables. Except all that achieved was an exacerbation of his loneliness.
And now he was going to foist it on Jas.
He turned left onto the esplanade and followed it out of Port Andrews, then indicated for Jasmine’s. Instead of open driveway, the Mercedes’s headlights swept the galvanised steel of her front gate. Latched around the strainer was the rubber-coated bike lock. The sight made Digby frown. She’d known he was coming, had seemed pleased about it. Why lock the gate when he was only a few minutes behind?
The creeping sensation that something was very wrong raised the hairs on his neck. He squinted through the darkness. No welcome light shone over the front porch and only the kitchen light appeared to be on. He scanned left and right, checking for another vehicle, for anything abnormal, but the yard seemed as he remembered. Greying crushed limestone road. Not much of a lawn. A few windblown scrubby trees. The edge of her garage behind. Nothing untoward, yet doubt hovered.
Digby hurried with the bike chain’s combination, breathing out in relief when the lock fell open. If she’d changed the code he would have jumped the fence and sprinted to her, whether she’d wanted to keep him out or not. People didn’t change mood that fast, not without duress.
He drove faster than normal down the road, the car bouncing as he ignored potholes and eroded edges and focused on the house.
It wasn’t until his headlights caught the old chaff bags that his fears really climbed. They were nailed vertically at head height either side of both the lounge and kitchen windows. The garden beds that ran along the front of the house had never been tidy but, even in the shadows, the white of broken branches and sappy scent of trampled geraniums were unmistakable, and Digby was damned sure it wasn’t Jas who’d done the damage.
