“An amazing one.” Tilly’s pulse quickened. Rowena had provided an opening.
Tilly reached over, her hand steepled, and waited for Rowena to complete their childhood gesture of solidarity. But the tips of Rowena’s fingers were cold and slippery. The steeple wobbled and collapsed, and Tilly found herself touching nothing but air.
“Archie and Sophie like you. But please, Ro, tread carefully. Getting involved with a family man, even one who’s separated, could end in heartbreak. Yours.” There, she’d said it.
“Bloody hell.” Rowena shot up, her alabaster chest flushed with red pinpricks. The dogs stood to attention. “Where did that come from?”
“Mabel Dillington. She saw the Discovery outside Manor Farm at 6:00 a.m.”
The wind shifted and brought a whiff of freshly spread slurry down from the fields, a smell rank with rot and decay.
“Bah. Let the old biddies gossip. I couldn’t care less.”
“If you guys are worried about telling me, you needn’t be. I’m a big girl.” Tilly pinged her bra strap. “Well, not as big as I always wanted to be.”
“Haddy, I’m not sleeping with Sebastian.” Rowena slumped back to the blanket. So did Tiddly and Winks, although, unlike Rowena, they sat up, their bodies alert. She emptied her champagne flute in one gulp, then tossed the glass aside. “You really thought we were doing the dirty on you? Crikey, that explains the cold treatment.”
“So why spend the night?” Tilly fingered the hem of her dress.
“Talk with Sebastian, Tilly. This is his secret, not mine.”
Tilly? Rowena never called her Tilly—Haddy, Petal, you old cow, but never Tilly.
Tilly shook her head. “We’ve never kept secrets.” Secrets, no, but Rowena’s emotions were like a fallow field with no-trespassing signs posted around the edges. A survival technique learned during childhood and fermented through years of boarding school when Rowena was disciplined for rebellious behavior and scorned for academic failings. She excelled only at art, which her mother declared a useless subject. Twice, she ran away.
Rowena stared at Tilly, her green eyes clear and cold. “Sharing’s not always good.”
“Ro—” Tilly grabbed Rowena’s clenched hand. “You’re so deep in my past that I don’t know where your life ends and mine begins. Nothing could change that.”
“Nothing? How could you ever, ever think that I would sleep with Sebastian? To betray you, Haddy, to risk losing you—” Rowena snatched her hand free and swiped it under her nose. “Unthinkable.”
“Hey, hey. Don’t get maudlin on me. I love you, too.”
Rowena sniffed loudly.
“How long have you been Sebastian’s confidante?” Tilly tried to sound disinterested, but her body tightened. Unease tingled in her chest, in her throat, in her fingertips.
“Since your wedding. Truthfully? We both felt dumped. Amazing how love for the same person gives you common ground.” Rowena paused for another sniff. “And then you broke Sebastian’s heart again.”
“Now you’ve lost me.”
“After your father died Sebastian stayed here, at the Hall, to be near you. I was commuting into the city at that point so we sat up most nights talking. Well, he talked. I listened.”
Tilly gazed up at the sky, more white than blue. What an insipid color. But then again, when you’d experienced sky so blue that it made your eyes ache and distorted your vision, nothing compared. A microlight floated over; a small private plane bounced near the horizon; and a jet streaked silently toward some distant location. The sky over Southern England was as crowded as the roadways. Where did people run to when they needed to be alone?
A bumblebee droned near Tilly’s bare feet. “I never realized.” She sat up and hugged her knees. “He just materialized every day and dealt with the bank, the lawyer, the funeral home, all that crap. And I never questioned it. God, how selfish can one person be?”
“You weren’t being selfish, Haddy. You were grieving. And telling everyone you were fine, when you weren’t. Sebastian wanted to help, so offering him B & B seemed the least I could do. You mopped up after your mother and sisters—Sebastian and I mopped up after you.”
Down by the horse pond Isaac whacked a cricket ball and Sebastian cheered, his voice blending with the chorus of birds and sheep. Tilly watched his arm arc through the air as he bowled and sensed Rowena watching him, too.
“If you’re planning on rekindling love lost,” Rowena said, “I recommend acting in haste. Half the choir ladies fancy him rotten. Rumor has it he’s quite the talk of the vestry. Can’t see it myself, can you?”
“Nah. Don’t see it at all.” Tilly smirked. Sebastian was wearing those tight white jeans again with a slim-fitting T-shirt that revealed a perfectly toned torso. Biceps to die for, or, in a woman’s case, lust over. He had filled out physically as well as emotionally. It was quite a combination.
“Why did Sebastian give up cricket?” Rowena said. “Were you responsible?”
“Me? Hardly. It was his passion. I tried to persuade him to stick with it.”
“You were his passion.”
A sparrow hawk sailed overhead, then twisted effortlessly to the right and swooped toward a finch, closing in on its prey.
“First love distorts reality, doesn’t it?” Tilly said. “We thought we were planning for a future, but we were just kids playing in a Wendy house. I counted imaginary babies while Sebastian prepared for his role as provider, so he could be everything his philandering, scuzzy father wasn’t.”
“His father was in the papers the other day. Conservative MP and wife number three. She looks eighteen.” Rowena plucked two daisies from the grass. She sliced her fingernail through the stem of one daisy and then threaded the other daisy through the wound. “Tell me. Do you ever regret ripping Sebastian’s heart apart?”
“Whoa! That’s not fair. We outgrew each other. Sad, but true.” Tilly’s life might be a quagmire of regret, but not when it came to her relationship with Sebastian. Their past, well, up until the bit where he stopped speaking to her, was bundled up and tucked away. Safe and sound. “When I ended it he didn’t react at all, which proved he wanted the same thing. You know how he hates confrontations. I made it easy for him.”
Rowena added another flower, then another to her daisy chain. Finally, she closed up the link. “Oh, Haddy. You’re so wrong.”
No, you’re the one who’s wrong.
Sebastian strolled toward the blanket, trailing whining children. “That’s it!” he declared. “Too much for an old geezer like me.”
“Good timing, Sophie.” Rowena held out the daisy chain.
“For me?” Sophie skipped toward Rowena. “Thank you.”
Isaac bounded up. “Wanna go make a hideout?” he asked Archie.
Archie shrugged, but there was an eagerness in his eyes that Tilly recognized.
Sophie could have been anyone’s daughter, with her round face and bouncy blonde curls. And Tilly could look at Sophie and feel nothing but admiration for her flare of defiance at lunch, when Archie had attempted to bully his younger sister into giving up her chair. But looking at Archie, Tilly’s breath caught in her throat. She saw Sebastian’s expressions, his stance, his features. The only difference between father and son was eye color. Archie’s eyes were the dark blue of her favorite salvia.
“Hey, Soph.” Isaac beamed at Sophie. “Wanna join us?”
Sophie nodded vigorously.
“He’s good
with younger children.” Sebastian watched the kids trundle off.
“The power of Montessori,” Tilly said. “He’s in a lower elementary class, with first, second and third grades mixed together.”
Sebastian frowned slightly. Obviously, he had no idea what she meant, but what were the chances he would ask her to translate the American grade system? Zero, since he had deflected every remark she’d addressed to him at lunch with minimum words.
Rowena laughed. “I hate to break this to you, chaps, but I think your daughter, Sebastian, has a crush on your son, Tilly.”
Oh God, Sophie was prancing along beside Isaac, her hand tucked into his. This—Tilly tugged on the edge of the blanket—was too weird.
“Rowena.” Sebastian sighed. “Sophie’s six. She adores any older child who notices her. Christ, that sun feels good.” He rested back on his elbows and crossed his ankles. “No doubt you’ve forgotten how we suffer from sun deprivation on this side of the pond.”
So, he had finally directed an entire sentence at her. And it was about the weather. Tilly preferred the notion of him sleeping with Rowena.
“Ro, can we make a hideout in here?” Isaac’s voice came from behind a huge Jerusalem sage, three times the size of the one Tilly had planted five years ago. Gardener envy—finally, an emotion she could handle.
“Coming, dear heart!” Rowena called out. “Best go check on the little pests.” She flipped over so that she was resting on all fours, then wagged a finger covered in thin silver rings. “You two play nice, you hear?”
Tilly had a clear view down Rowena’s purple lace camisole into her cleavage. And, given Sebastian’s strained cough, so did he. Rowena leaped up and twirled toward the children, the sun highlighting her long, russet hair.
“She’s one of those women who becomes more beautiful with age, isn’t she?” Tilly said, but Sebastian didn’t reply. He was staring toward the kissing gate that led into The Chase, the ancient woodland dating back seven hundred years. Which ghosts was he invoking? Those of two teenagers who sought refuge and privacy in the ruined Dower House on the far side of the woods? Or was he remembering the fourteen-and the sixteen-year-old who met at the bus station on a damp November Sunday? A gang of local boys was teasing her when this beautiful guy intervened. Of course, it was nothing she couldn’t handle, but Sebastian became her savior that day, her protector. And here he was, twenty-three years later, back in her life.
Dear God, he could have been a male model. An almost-forty urban professional who had stepped from the pages of a Boden catalog. His skin was smooth, blemish-free and golden-brown. Unlike Tilly, whose face turned pink and broke out in a rash of freckles at the hint of sunshine, Sebastian tanned easily and evenly. How did a blond manage that?
His eyebrows were still a shade darker than his hair and neither too thick nor too thin. If Tilly hadn’t known him at sixteen, she might have assumed he hired salon help to achieve eyebrows so impeccably arched. And of course, he had that straight, sized-to-perfection nose, those cute lips, those eyes that changed color with his mood….
“We need to talk,” Tilly said.
“You never used to be so blunt.” Sebastian gave his lopsided smile, but it didn’t stay in place. “What happened?”
“Widowhood.” She reached for the bottle of champagne. “I have no intention of doing this sober. You might want to follow my example.”
He picked up Rowena’s empty glass and held it out. Champagne fizzed and gurgled into the glass flute as tiny bubbles exploded, releasing a delicate, floral aroma that tickled the back of Tilly’s throat. But the sensation was out of place. What, if anything, did she and Sebastian have to celebrate? They were together but alone, abandoned by death or desertion. Goodness, and she’d accused Rowena of being maudlin. Pick up your thoughts, Tilly, put them elsewhere.
“Let’s walk.” Tilly stood and so did Sebastian, but not before he had ignored her outstretched hand.
* * *
Tilly paid no attention to where they were heading. Neither, it seemed, did Sebastian.
“I heard you and Ro whispering in the car. About something you need to tell me?” Still barefoot, Tilly kept her head down as she sidestepped clumps of clover filled with bumblebees.
They had reached the edge of the lawn where it dipped into acres of parkland sprinkled with grazing sheep and guarded by majestic sentinels of oak and chestnut. This was the countryside of her childhood. And when it was wrapped in the halcyon light of the English summer sun, nothing could compare. A pheasant coughed, a yellowhammer sang little-bit-of-bread-and-no-cheese, and Tilly’s heart flipped with pleasure.
A black-faced ewe waddled over to the rusted fence and bleated at them.
“Baa to you, too,” Tilly replied.
“My wife’s pregnant,” Sebastian said, and walked away.
Jealousy, an irrational response, winded her. Tilly grabbed the wire in front of her and it shimmied frantically, startling the sheep. Why couldn’t she find traction with Sebastian? Why was she hurtling down this helter-skelter of overblown emotions—first hatred, now jealousy? This wasn’t Tilly. She wasn’t mean, she wasn’t possessive and she wasn’t thoughtless. Was she? How had she become the person who forced a man to make peace with an adolescent romp when he was lost in the turmoil of his marriage? Of course the poor man still loved his wife! Any nutter could see that. Blimey, she so needed to get out from under herself.
Tilly ran after him. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? For a reconciliation?”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Crap. You love her? Fight for her.”
Tilly linked her arm through Sebastian’s and they strolled on, drifting nowhere. She expected him to stiffen or shy away. After all, public affection horrified Sebastian. Once, when she tried to canoodle with him on a street corner, he accused her of exhibitionism. But today he appeared anesthetized to her touch.
They passed a latticework of clipped hedges and towering topiaries, sloping banks of lavender, and massive stone urns half-filled with gray soil, their decorations chipped away by decades of frost. Empty flowerpots in midsummer were the absolute worst seasonal anachronism. Would Ro let her plant some red, spiky cordylines or maybe a pair of lemon trees? Tilly felt a tingle at the back of her throat, the gardener’s equivalent of a foodie salivating over a Jamie Oliver recipe. God, she so needed to garden.
She was shocked to realize that Sebastian was talking. After all, his silences could stretch across days. “I wanted more children. Fiona didn’t,” he said. “I had a vasectomy after Sophie was born.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.” He gave his crooked smile. “My wife has not, apparently, demanded a vasectomy of my former squash partner.”
“That’s good. Keep that righteous indignation. Then go tell her how you feel.”
“I can’t have a rational conversation with her, Tilly. Her hormones are raging.”
“Who said it had to be rational? Scream at her. Make her understand how you feel!” What a ridiculous thing to say. Sebastian? Scream?
“Archie and Sophie have already heard too much.” His voice was cold. “A clean break is best for them.”
“And what’s best for you?”
He removed her arm from his. “How is that relevant?”
They had reached the wrought-iron gate of the walled garden.
“Let’s sit for a while,” Tilly said. “Enjoy Lady Roxton’s garden.”
Tilly thrust her hip agai
nst the gate. It yielded with a groan, and Sebastian followed her inside, his hand still gripping the champagne flute he had yet to drink from. His boots crunched across the pea gravel as he threaded his way through the garden, but Tilly froze. Behind once-symmetrical borders—now a sprawling mishmash of anarchy—espalier-trained fruit trees reached out as if holding up their arms in defeat. And who could blame them? Roses and clematis strangled each other and clutched at heirloom perennials; self-seeded annuals jostled with marauding weeds; ground elder choked blobs of thyme, sage and rue.
Tilly bent down and tugged up a handful of groundsel. Rowena had retained one full-time gardener, a hedges-and-edges man who seemed to spend his life mowing, but still. How could Ro condone such neglect? Her mother would be devastated. Or was that the point? Really, it was heartbreaking that a mother and daughter had missed every signal of love to become family members who shared nothing but a name. Tilly measured her happiness by Isaac’s. Most days she could hardly contain her love for him, physically ached for him when they were apart. She would never let hate or distrust come between them. She had failed him once by not fighting for his father’s life. That single lesson, never to be repeated, had taught her everything she needed to know about mistakes and regret.
Sebastian stopped by the bench under Lady Roxton’s beloved Peace rose and threw himself down with one swift movement. He landed with his legs crossed carelessly and an arm dangling over the back of the bench. Tilly ditched the groundsel and joined him.
“If you don’t tell Fiona how you feel, you’ll never forgive yourself,” Tilly said. “Best-case scenario, she still loves you. Worst case? You move on. What have you got to lose?”
The Unfinished Garden Page 10
